Serendipity
by bethalaina
Summary: Locked in an unhappy marriage, Hermione runs into an old friend during her travels for her job. HermioneViktor, some HarryGinny. If you like Ron, you probably shouldn't read this. He comes off terribly.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Hermione Granger stepped out of the Ministry into the sunshine. The beautiful weather topped off her day perfectly. She had received an offer for the job of her dreams today. For the past five years, since the war ended, she'd been working with her father-in-law Arthur in the Muggle Relations department. She enjoyed his company, more than she enjoyed her husband's, in fact; the job, however, was rather monotonous for her. She wanted to do something thought-provoking, something educational…something that took her to other parts of the world. She wanted to leave a mark on wizarding history, and she wanted her own name to be associated with it.

This afternoon, the Minister of Magic, David Tiddlywink, had called her to his office and offered her just that.

"Mrs. Granger," he began, "I have a proposition that I hope you will find very interesting. Of everyone I've considered, you are the only person who has exactly the qualities I need for this job. We have decided to create an International Wizarding Library here in London."

Hermione gasped, thrilled at the mere prospect of such a library. Tiddlywink grinned at her and continued in his explanation.

"This library will contain books in many, many languages, from as many countries as possible. It should contain ancient texts with valuable knowledge and modern novels as well. These books need to be carefully selected by a person who knows book and loves them. This is where your part comes in."

"You're asking me to…what? To order books for you? Or create a list of important books?" she asked.

"No, I am asking you to take over as Head of the new International Library division of the Ministry. You would select several others to work under you, of course, but the selecting I would like you to do personally. You would need to do extensive traveling. The others could do research and make suggestions, and find a suitable location for the library, draft fund requests, and that sort of red tape. You, Mrs. Granger, would be on the front lines, in the books, where I'm told you most love to be."

"Oh, Mr. Tiddlywink!" she sighed happily. "It's the career I've always longed for. And an International Wizarding Library would be so useful! I think it's a brilliant idea!"

Tiddlywink chuckled. "You won't mind the travel, my dear? And being away from your husband?"

Ron. He had wound up working in trade regulations, a job he truly hated. Honestly, Hermione wouldn't mind a break from her sulky husband. Of course, she wasn't going to tell Tiddlywink that.

"I've always wanted to travel, sir. I saw quite a few Muggle attractions with my parents as a child, but magical attractions intrigue me. I doubt I could ever see enough of them. And searching though musty bookstores in exotic locales? Amazing."

"I take it that you accept the position? I'm sure Arthur will be upset to see you go. Come, then, I'll show you to your new office and you can begin hiring assistants and researching tomorrow."

Now Hermione dreamily made her way through London, preferring to take her time reaching her and Ron's apartment. This new career would make her happy, finally. She had married Ron shortly after their sixth year at Hogwarts, both of them only seventeen. Neither they nor Harry Potter had returned to finish at Hogwarts, choosing instead to go hunting for Horcruxes, fighting for the Order of the Phoenix, and later, battling Voldemort. After the battle ended two years later, they all made up their N.E.W.T.'s and started working for the Ministry, Ron and Hermione in their current positions, and Harry as an Auror. Ron had been miffed about Harry landing the job he'd always wanted, but there was nothing to be done about it, except sulk and whine, which Ron did profusely.

If she was completely honest with herself, Hermione had to admit that she didn't expect them all to live through the war. She had expected that either Ron or she would be used as bait for Harry and die in the process. Their union had been the result of puppy love and the fierce passion that comes with it. That passion had faded out in the seven years that had passed. She still cared for him, but it felt a lot more platonic than she thought it should be. The only passion he aroused in her any longer was fury. He pouted, he grumbled, he complained, he drank too much, and he hated everything. The war had changed everyone, but Ron seemed to have gotten the worst of it. Oddly enough, he appeared to have lost less than many others had.

Hermione unlocked the door to find herself in an empty apartment. Ron usually went out with Seamus Finnigan after work; the quiet was nothing unusual. She took a hot bath and pulled on a thick robe, then warmed up a bowl of soup. She carried it to her desk and began to brainstorm.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Two hours and a roll of parchment later, Hermione stretched and glanced at the clock. Ron only stayed out longer than an hour once a week or so, and on those days, Seamus generally came over to visit for a while. She had better be wearing more than a robe when company arrived or Ron would be angry and she'd be embarrassed. Although, in the state they would be in, she doubted Seamus would even notice.

She slipped into jeans and a shirt she'd had since Hogwarts, twisted her hair into a bun, and curled up on the lumpy couch. She was still thrilled to think about her new job and kept running over her ideas in her mind. Mr. Tiddlywink had given her a folder full of his plans and propositions, and she'd spent the rest of her workday reading through the information. She could hardly wait to tell Harry and Ginny about it, and the rest of the family. Ron, she expected, would be upset, not because of the travel or because she hadn't consulted him, but because she was achieving a dream. He barely spoke to Harry since he'd become an Auror or to Ginny when she'd accepted a position as Chaser for the Cannons. Fred and George had offered him a partnership in their joke enterprise, which was growing by leaps and bounds, but he had said he didn't need a sympathy job from his brothers and kept his place at the Ministry. She didn't have the heart to tell him Percy had pulled strings to get that job for him.

She wondered sometimes if his lack of recognition for his efforts in the war all boiled down to the final battle. Wormtail and Crouch had been sent to wipe out most of the Order, whom Voldemort had imprisoned. Harry had been expecting something like that and they had made a plan for Ron to go take care of them and for him to stay and battle Voldemort. They didn't know that she was with them in Godric's Hollow as well. She had followed with Moody's Invisibility Cloak, knowing she'd be needed, even though they'd both wanted her to stay behind. Ron had Apparated and she didn't know where he'd gone, or she would have gone to help him. Harry realized she was there when his injuries appeared to keep healing themselves, thanks to her murmuring the many healing charms she'd memorized from under the cloak. Voldemort had believed the miraculous healing to be more of Harry's love magic. Without her, Voldemort would have sliced him up, bled him, and let him die slowly, instead of the quick, convenient _Avada Kedavra_. In the end, Voldemort had cursed Dumbledore, layered insult upon insult upon Harry's beloved headmaster, and given Harry the boiling hatred he needed to work the killing curse.

At the time, Rufus Scrimgeour was still Minister and wouldn't acknowledge anyone's part but Harry's in the downfall of the Dark Lord. For a long time, Ron hadn't believed that Hermione had been there, despite Harry's insistence that she'd saved his life. Ron had never been the same since the night he'd begrudgingly accepted that his wife and his best friend had defeated Voldemort without him. He had saved all of the members of the Order of the Phoenix that night, and received a medal and a nice reward from the Ministry, but he still felt as if he had missed out on the glory. After the initial interest had died down, the Ministry and the public had forgotten about both him and Hermione.

When she considered it, she supposed that everyone but him was achieving their dreams. She couldn't help but think that if he would stop feeling sorry for himself and moping over what he couldn't change his life would improve a great deal. He was getting to the point that even his family could barely tolerate him. She didn't really blame any of them; he used his tongue like a razor to everyone who was happier than he was. He was terribly rude and rather mean. She wished he could be happy, but she had realized a long time ago that his happiness wasn't anyone's responsibility but his, not even hers.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Well, that had gone well. Ron and Seamus had come in, singing some Irish song loudly, slurring every word. Within ten minutes Seamus was passed out on the lumpy old couch and Hermione and Ron were having a blazing argument over her new career. Ron finally ended it, yelling, "Fine! Go off and achieve your stupid dreams! The only thing I ever got that I wanted was you, and what a load of rubbish you've wound up being!" He'd then slammed and locked their bedroom door. She slept on the couch often enough that it wouldn't have really mattered, but Seamus was occupying that position tonight. Besides, she didn't really want to be here in the morning. She grabbed an overnight kit out of the bathroom and a few articles of clothing out of the dryer, stuffed them into a bag, and Flooed to the Potters'.

When Hermione climbed out of the fireplace, coughing, Ginny hurried into the living room.

"Sorry to just pop in on you like this," Hermione said, "but I seem to be in need of a place to stay tonight."

"Ron tossed you out again?" Ginny replied, concerned.

"Oh, no, he didn't throw me out. Just locked me out of the bedroom, and Seamus was sleeping on the couch. We had a bit of a row."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Actually, I have really big news that you need to hear first. Where's Harry?"

"In the nursery. I'm sure he'll be down in a minute; Ana always hears the Floo and has to investigate."

Sure enough, Harry and little Liliana Grace, with tousled red curls and big green eyes, joined them momentarily. For several months after this little one was born two years ago, Molly had pestered Hermione about her reproductive habits. Gradually, the requests had died out; Molly had probably noted her son's drinking and behavior problems. Hermione was relieved that she had never gotten pregnant, but that didn't stop her from adoring Ana.

For a moment, the show was stolen by a warm little body clamoring onto "An Ha-my-nee's" lap. Every time Ana said her name, Hermione remembered another person who had said her name much like that. But such thoughts had to be put away; she'd made her bed a long time ago.

Once Ana made herself comfortable, Hermione shared her good news with her friends. As she'd known they would be, they were thrilled for her. She spent a few happy moments telling them of her plans, until Harry asked tentatively, "What did Ron say?"

Hermione sighed. "I'm here, not home, aren't I?"

"It was that bad?"

"Well…he'd had a bit to drink, so maybe that made it worse. But I doubt it. He just…Oh, Harry, he just doesn't want anyone to be happy. But this is the kind of thing I've dreamed of for years. Nothing I do or don't do is going to make Ron happy. I have to worry about making myself happy for a change, or I'll be miserable for the rest of my life."

Ginny rose and lifted the sleeping child out of Hermione's arms. She and Hermione were very close, but they'd never shared quite the bond Hermione did with Harry. She knew Harry would give Hermione the encouragement she needed, so she'd leave them alone for awhile. "I'm going to put this little bit to bed and pick up her room. I'll be down later."

Hermione moved onto the couch beside Harry and he wrapped her in a hug. "Do you want to talk, or do you want to cry?" he asked.

She laid her head against his shoulder and wept. She wept for her pathetic marriage and the years down the drain. She wept for her husband. But when she finished, she wept with joy for the days to come.

As the weeks passed, everything for the new Ministry division fell neatly into place. Hermione hired eight assistants, highly recommended by her old friend Madam Pince, to handle the office end of things. She fine-tuned some translation spells to use on her trips. Anything spoken would appear in English on a special piece of parchment, and she could translate any written word with an incantation. It would work vise-versa, too.

Two months after her meeting with Tiddlywink, Hermione was prepared for her first trip. She was going in search of an old bookstore in Paris, run by a wizard who was, ages ago, the librarian at Beauxbatons. He had supposedly hidden his store away so that only the very determined could find him, those who really wanted the books he had. Hermione was determined.

The night before she left, Ron beat her home from work. She stopped in the doorway, amazed to find him showered, dressed, and apparently waiting on her.

"I thought maybe we could go out to dinner, since you're taking off tomorrow morning. Haven't had a decent meal all week."

"Sure, we can go out." Hermione didn't know what else to say.

"Then you'd better get cleaned up," he replied, noting the ink on her cheek and her messy curls. "We aren't going anywhere with you looking like that."

That sounded more like Ron. She obeyed, and they went to dinner. Surprisingly, Hermione had a pleasant enough time. Ron talked about the batch of faulty wands that had been shipped from France last week and warned her to be careful. He only had three glasses of wine. As long as she kept her mouth shut about her job, things were fine.

But the next morning, Ron didn't even wake up to tell her goodbye.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

During her week in Paris, Hermione lost herself in books. The second day, she managed to find the bookstore she was looking for. By the end of the day, the wizened little man who owned it was half in love with her, sharing her passion for books and information. She spent the rest of her trip poring over the old texts with him, selecting the ones best for the library. He was a kind old soul, and his advice was very helpful. He loved the idea of an International Wizarding Library and declared that he wished France had thought of it first. He begged her to come back and see him someday, and she promised to do her best. Overall, she was very pleased with her trip and sad to see it end.

With her trunk of books, she Flooed straight back to the Ministry. Her assistants, like her, were thrilled with the texts she'd found. She left them to look over them and catalogue them while she checked in with Tiddlywink, who was pleased his plan was taking off so well.

Then it was time to head home. She showered and took a nap. When she woke, Ron and Seamus were in the living room, nursing their bottles. She was hungry.

Walking into the room, Hermione asked, "Anything in particular you'd like for dinner? Seamus, will you be staying?"

"Oh, back, are you?" Ron asked.

"Did your trip go well?" Seamus put in.

"Don't get her started, or you'll hear more about books than you've ever wanted to know. I know I don't want to hear it again," Ron snorted.

Seamus gave her a sad sort of smile. "I'd love to stay for dinner if you don't mind." At least he was a nice drunk, she thought.

"I was very pleased with the outcome of my trip. Chicken ok?"

Ron nodded, and she went to the kitchen.

The next day, a Saturday, Hermione spent the day at her mother-in-law's house with Ginny and Ana. It was one of her favorite places to be, even though it was haunted by memories of Ron before he changed. Entertaining people were dropping in constantly, and she had Molly and Ginny to talk to, and Ana to cuddle. Harry came with Ginny and stayed long enough to hear about her trip, but he left with Fred and George, who had some new joke products they wanted to show him. Remus Lupin and his wife, who still went by Tonks, stopped by for a few minutes. Even Alastor Moody dropped in to see Arthur. All of these people had gone through the war with Hermione, and all of them cared about her. She loved being surrounded by them.

Hermione, Ginny, and Molly spent the day knitting in the living room, while Ana played in the floor. Hermione shared all the details of her trip.

"I invited Ron over for dinner while you were gone, but he didn't come. How is he? Was he happy to have you home?" Molly asked.

"He's…" Hermione wished she had a better answer. "He was drinking again last night. He didn't seem to care that I was home. I don't really know what to do anymore."

Molly sighed and put down her knitting. "Hermione, dear, I think everyone has done everything they can. I just want you to know…if you ever feel like you need to leave him…well, you'll always be welcome here. You won't lose anyone's affection over it. We understand."

"Now, Hermione," Ginny commanded, "tell us where you're going next."

Hermione smiled, glad the touching little moment was over. "Well, we've had word of very old bookstores in several places. There's a town in Bulgaria, on the Black Sea, that's supposed to have two different ones in it. I'm rather anxious to check that out. I've also heard of one in Germany I'd like to find. It's really amazing how many of these little places we've heard of, actually. I suspect if I wandered around some of the old cities, I'd find some I haven't heard anything about."

The rest of the day passed with friendly conversation and a wonderful meal. Then, there was grumpy Ron and singing Seamus in the evening. The days passed as Hermione planned a trip to Germany, her zeal for her work growing more and more.

The trip went much the same way as the one to Paris did. Tiddlywink was very pleased with Hermione's work. She was happy on the trips, happy in the office, and at home, she had her work to occupy her mind.

After a quick trip to Israel, Hermione found herself planning the Bulgarian excursion. The town she'd heard of had two wizarding bookstores. She decided to allow herself three weeks this time, so she could find them and search them thoroughly. She had no idea the impact this trip would have on her.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

To her surprise, Hermione had little trouble finding both bookstores in the sleepy Bulgarian town of Izbor. It appeared to have been, at one time, a growing city, but somehow it never finished. There was a significant wizarding section with lots of shops left over from those days. She learned that the countryside around the town was mostly wizarding families, who came to do their shopping and socializing here.

Because she had found the bookstores so quickly, she decided to browse through them slowly, luxuriously, and have a bit of a vacation as well. She felt she'd earned a bit of relaxation.

She used her translating spells and got well acquainted with the shopkeepers. Her favorite bookshop had armchairs placed throughout, where she spent a lot of her time, selecting books. She'd truly found a wealth of knowledge in this little town.

Hermione was curled in one of these comfy seats one afternoon, when she got a shivery feeling, as if someone were watching her. She tried to ignore it, thinking it was probably just the shopkeeper; this shop never had many people in it. Who else would have an interest in these yellowed pages? She had met very few others in her life who shared this love.

After about ten minutes of that feeling, on and off, she stopped reading and looked around, searching for the intruder.

Unexpectedly, her eyes met dark, dark eyes—eyes she knew; eyes she'd once loved. Eyes she hadn't seen in years. A thousand memories, that she'd hidden deep inside when she chose Ron, rushed back into her mind and her heart.

He walked over to her, slowly. His hand reached for hers, and, as he always had, he brushed the back of it with his lips. He spoke slowly, enunciating clearly, as if he hadn't spoken English in quite a while. "It has been a very long time, Hermy-own-ninny."

She couldn't speak; she could only stare at him. A long moment later, she found her voice, and her smile. "Yes, Viktor, it certainly has."

She had been fifteen when she had fallen for him. He'd watched her in the library at Hogwarts; he'd asked her to the ball. Since their first conversation, she'd seen the sweet, shy boy he'd been then; not the worldly Quidditch player everyone seemed to think he was. In stolen moments in hidden hallways, they'd discovered love together, always careful, so careful, not to take things too far. She'd wondered what it would be like to be with him. In later years, when she'd been with Ron, she'd had to suppress thoughts of Viktor—that niggling curiosity of how it could have been.

She had been sixteen when she realized that the distance made a relationship very, very difficult for two people so young. She'd spent hours trying to write that letter, tears smearing the ink, her innocent heart breaking over her first love. She'd been at home when she wrote it; she'd spent two days in bed, crying, after the owl carried it away. Her mum had brought her tea and toast and held her while she cried. She still remembered what her mother had told her that night.

She'd sobbed, "I think it would have been easier not to have loved him, no matter what Tennyson thought."

Her mum had hugged her and said, "Think what you would have missed, though, besides the hurting. I think Tennyson was right. I know you can't unlove him, but you can love someone else too. Eventually, if it is meant to be, you'll find him again."

Her mother had been right; she had loved again. She'd fallen for Ron, goofy Ron, friendly Ron, happy Ron. But then she'd fallen out of love with grumpy Ron, finicky Ron, hateful Ron.

And now, here she was, in a coffee shop in Bulgaria, across the table from Viktor Krum. He was still sweet, although not nearly as shy. He was a gentleman and he was interested in her life and her new job. And yet, Hermione was married to another man.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

They had sat in the bookstore's plush chairs for over an hour, talking about anything and everything, until the owner had told them he really needed to close for the day. Viktor had suggested that they carry on the conversation at a nearby coffee shop, and Hermione had gladly agreed.

She had told him about Harry and Ginny's baby, and as she tucked Ana's picture back into her purse, Viktor asked, "Ginny…she is the little red-headed vitch, yes? Your sister-in-law, old friend from Hogvarts?"

Hermione smiled. "Yes, she was pretty much my only female friend while I was there. Maybe I was a tomboy."

He laughed, "No, you vere alvays lady. And your husband? How is he?"

She paused, wondering how much to tell him. She'd never kept secrets from Viktor…but she couldn't badmouth Ron to him, either; it wouldn't be right. However horrible he might be, he was still her husband. "Ron's ok. He's working for the Ministry, in international trade. How is your family? Are you married now?"

He looked at her, and she felt like he could read everything she didn't say in her eyes. He waved his hand at her with a smile, showing the absence of a ring. "No vife. Not even girlfriend. I took season off from Quidditch; the girls ignore me."

"Why did you take a season off? Is it getting boring?"

"No, I love it as much as ever. I haff been helping my mother. Ve lost my father last year."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I understand how hard it is; I lost both my parents in an automobile accident four years ago."

"Is very hard, isn't it? I feel for you, to lose both at vonce. My father had been sick for avhile; it is better for him now."

On impulse, she reached across the table for his hand, wrapped around his coffee mug, and squeezed it.

"Thank you," he whispered. "If you are interested, tomorrow I vill take you to bookshop you know nothing about."

She grinned, lightening the moment and making him laugh. "Of course you are interested. Vhy do I even ask?"

"Tell me about Izbor. Have you lived here long?"

"I grew up outside of the town. In Bulgarian, the vord 'izbor' means 'choice'…"

She listened as he kept talking, but she gazed at him, too. His face was much the same, but there were some lines that hadn't been there before. He was almost thirty now, still young, but not the boy of eighteen she remembered. Of course, she wasn't a girl anymore, either. His hair was longer than last time she'd seen him, thick and dark, and long enough for one to wrap her fingers through. His smile came more easily for others around them, the shopkeeper, the waitress. It had always come easily for her. He didn't look as grumpy, even when he wasn't smiling, as he had in school. He even carried himself taller, prouder, than she remembered. His eyes were older, but still dark as chocolate at midnight, and they still teased, laughed, and glowed with excitement. His gait was still duck-footed, and his nose was still hooked. She was glad some things stayed the same; she'd have missed the familiarity.

"You are not listening! You are just vatching me! Should not be looking at men, you naughty married voman!"

Hermione's jaw dropped at the scolding and she blushed. Viktor laughed gleefully. "I am teasing you. It has been very long time since ve see each other. Look all you vant. Married or not, ve can alvays be friends. Besides, I look too. I miss your hair. Is not everyvhere anymore."

She stroked the short crown of curls, wishing her face would cool. "Sorry, but it's loads easier to manage this way. Molly thought it looked nice."

"Molly…mother-in-law?"

"Yes. I spend a lot of my days off with her and Ginny. We're rather good friends."

Once again, she felt as though he were hearing things that went unspoken. Had he guessed at her marital problems? She hoped not. It was hard enough hiding that she was attracted to him without him knowing that she wasn't in love with her husband!

Later that night, he offered to walk her to the inn she was staying at. Conflicted feelings caused her to turn him down graciously. They made plans to meet back at the coffee shop in the morning to visit Viktor's secret bookshop, and Hermione left.

After she'd gone, Viktor remained in his seat, staring at the steam coming off of the coffee the waitress refilled. His thoughts were tumultuous. She was the last person he'd expected to run into today. He had been so shocked he couldn't even say her name, when he had practiced it until he could say it perfectly. She'd never known that, though; she'd ended their relationship too soon to know. She was still sweet, still beautiful, although the hair he'd adored was chopped off. Her eyes glowed with caramel fire when she talked about her job, or Potter's little girl. However, a shadow flickered through them when talk turned to her family life. He suspected something was wrong, but he wouldn't ask her. If she wanted him to know, she'd tell him. Besides, he was just an old friend now. It had been a very long time since he'd been her everything.

What she didn't know what that she was still his. He'd carried her last letter in his wallet for years, until the creases were rubbed thin and it was falling apart. It was tucked into his nightstand drawer now. He'd been sick for days after he got it. He understood her reasons, and he didn't blame her. He wasn't upset with her. He just missed her, even just the correspondence they'd shared. He missed knowing that her love was out there.

He'd never found anyone else, never looked. He'd taken a couple of fans back to his hotel room later on, when he heard she'd married Weasley, hoping to find something to fill the hole he carried around inside. Two times, two nameless, faceless girls, and he knew the hole wouldn't be filled by anyone else. He'd slowly accepted that he was going to be alone. He'd practiced harder, coached a kids' Quidditch team between seasons, spent time with his parents, and taken care of his father when he became sick. At night, he would dream of her, if he dreamed at all.

Viktor paid for their coffee and left the shop. Usually he Apparated to his cottage, but tonight he needed the walk in the cool night air to clear his head. He had never stopped loving Hermione, and now she was in Izbor. He couldn't let her know, especially if she was having marital problems. It would be so hard to hide his feelings, but he'd do it. He would be her friend, show her around Izbor, because he had to have her company now that he'd seen her again. He just wouldn't let himself hope for the impossible. He could be a friend, even if his heart felt hollow when he saw her walk out the door.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Good morning, _svetlina,_" Viktor greeted Hermione as she came in the coffee shop smiling the next morning. "Vant breakfast?"

"Sure," she replied, and gave the waitress her order. "What is _svetlina_? I could pull out my translating parchment, but it's easier to ask you."  
"Is light. Like in English, to call someone sunshine," he answered, "because vhen you smile like that, it is like sunshine."

"I could use my parchment, if you would rather speak in Bulgarian."

"Am I that rusty?"

She laughed, "No, your English is wonderful. I just thought you might rather--"

"I like to speak to you, not to parchment. I vill speak in language you understand."

"Ok. I'll need to use it to understand the person at the bookshop, though, I suppose."

"She knows some English. Not so much as I do, but she can get by."

"Oh? Do you know her?"

"Yes, I know her very vell."

Hermione wondered who she was. He'd said last night he didn't have a girlfriend. Maybe an old girlfriend or a friend with benefits? Surely he wasn't celibate. He was too much man not to be sharing it with someone.

It slightly bothered her that she was thinking about Viktor's sex life. It bothered her more that she was a teensy bit jealous. She had no right to be.

A short time later, Viktor was pushing open the door to a small shop hidden in a nook of Izbor's Muggle section. The outside was dull and somewhat dirty, probably to deter Muggles from coming in. Inside, however, it was warm and welcoming, with chairs and houseplants. At the sound of the bell, a short, plump lady came out from behind a shelf. She had dark hair with white streaks and dark, flashing eyes. Hermione relaxed immediately.

"_Dobro utro_, _Vitya_," she cried, wrapping her arms around the much-taller man.

"Good morning to you too, _Mayka_," he replied, laughing and returning the hug.

"English, Vitya? Vhy? Who is guest?"

"_Mayka_, this is Mrs. Hermione Granger, from England," he told her. She noticed the lady's eyes widen a bit. "She is searching for books to buy. She is in charge of new International Vizarding Library the English ministry is building." He spoke her name slowly, clearly. He must have practiced it last night, she realized. Surely it had been years since he'd said it, until yesterday.

"Hermione," he said, clearly once again, "I vould like you to meet my mama."

After some polite (and somewhat nervous) conversation, Hermione excused herself to browse among the books and leave Viktor and his mother to their conversation. She was sitting on the floor in front of a shelf, using her parchment to translate some text, when she noticed an odd line. _Vitya, is that the girl you fell in love with at Hogwarts? The girl that broke your heart?_

She realized with embarrassment that the parchment was picking up the rapid Bulgarian coming from a couple aisles over, where Viktor was shelving some books while Mrs. Krum talked to him. She felt as if she was eavesdropping, but what could she do? She should have worked on the spell more, so it didn't pick up interference.

_Yes, Mama, it is the same girl._

_Why is she really here? I thought you told me she married someone. If I find out you are dating a married woman, Viktor, I am still your mama and I can still skin you alive if I want to._ Hermione stifled a giggle and tried to read the text she meant to be translating.

_The Tricumbulus Charm is very old magic that creates three Mama I am not dating her. I ran into her at Andon's shop when I picked up those books for you. We had coffee and caught up._

_That sounds like a date to me._

_It wasn't, I promise. I didn't even walk her home._

_Why not? I taught you better manners than to let a lady walk home in the dark alone._

_She has a husband. I am fighting a lost cause, am I not, you stubborn lady? I can do neither right nor wrong._

_It is because I read your eyes, Vitya. You watch her as if you still care._

It was getting too personal. Hermione uttered the countercharm, turning off the parchment. She would have to do without translating for now. It wasn't long before Viktor joined her, offering his help reading the Cyrillic letters. Hermione was glad her blush was gone.

The day flew by, and before she knew it, it was time to leave. She was trying to fit her purchases into a large bag she'd brought with her. It was easier to shrink them, but with books as old and valuable as these, she didn't like to. Some studies showed that it could damage the books.

"Vitya, you not let her carry books to hotel herself! You help that girl. I raise you good," Mrs. Krum scolded.

"Yes, _Mayka_, I plan to carry them for her. I also plan to feed her dinner after making her vork all day. Vill you join us?"

"No, no, tonight is card game night vit other old vemon. Ve eat, ve…ve…pig ourselfs. Then I giff them cognac, then vin all the moneys. Sometimes giff them rum, too." She winked at him. "You kids haff much fun."

Viktor kissed her cheek. "Sounds like you haff the most fun of all. Goodnight, _Mayka_."

He hefted Hermione's bag over his shoulder and gathered up most of her other books in his arms. She picked up the rest, and then gave him a critical glance. "Maybe I'm overdoing it a bit."

"A bit? That is all?" he teased. "No, I am joking. You are not. You are building a library, almost by yourself, are you not?"

"That's true," she laughed as they left.

After that, Hermione only had three more days in Bulgaria. She had lunch with Viktor the next two, and on the third, since her work was finished, she let him take her to the shore. As they sat in the sand, watching the Black Sea lap at the coast, Hermione couldn't help but think how nice it had felt to laugh with someone again. She enjoyed her friends' and family's company at home, but it wasn't like this. Ron's shadow always hung between them, like a wall they could see through, and feel warmth through, but she could never really touch them, not even Harry or Ginny. She was never really happy. Viktor's company made her feel like a seed that had lain dormant for years, then sprung through the soil, uncurling and reaching for the sun and its heat. He was genuinely interested in what she thought, what she felt. He listened when she talked, and he had valuable input on her ideas. He cared about her, even though they'd only become reacquainted in the past few days. His friendship was a warm yellow glow. That warmth made her want to tell him everything.

A piece of her heart that she'd forgotten existed began to quiver. She felt that twinge, that tiny bit of life inside, and knew she had to quench it somehow. She couldn't let herself fall for Viktor again. She had made her choice a long time ago. She had married Ron.

Why couldn't she have married Viktor instead?

When this sentence fluttered through her mind, Hermione knew she had to stop thinking about it.

"Viktor," she asked suddenly, drawing his attention away from the water, "what does _Vitya_ mean? The word your mother used? I asked my parchment, but it didn't translate it. Perhaps I said it wrong."

"I do not think it vould translate. Vitya is a…a proper noun. Is a name, a, how do you say it? A different name for Viktor. Like a sveet name, a love name? Vhat is vord for that?"

"I think you mean a pet name."

"Yes, a pet name, as if I am a puppy." He barked at her, and she giggled, enjoying his silliness, especially when he'd seemed moody all day. "You are velcome to use it if you like. No vone but _Mayka_ calls me that now."

"Did I say it correctly?" she asked.

"Say it again," he commanded softly, staring into the sand.

She gazed at him a moment, surprised at the tone of his voice, a command that was almost a plea, as if the request hurt but he couldn't help making it.

"Vitya," she said, and then, in a whisper, "Vitya."

He looked up then, met her gaze, his eyes dark as coffee, jumbled feelings dancing through them. "You say it perfectly, _svetlina_," he answered.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

That night, back in England, Hermione found herself once more in an empty house. She didn't mind; she wasn't really ready to see Ron just yet. She wanted some time to think, about her life in general and about her encounter with Viktor. She sat at her desk, quill in hand, parchment in front of her: her very best thinking position. To her great surprise, her mind was full, but her parchment stayed blank.

After their strange conversation on the beach, they sat quietly for awhile, until it was time for her to go back to her hotel and get ready to leave. He'd walked along beside her, hands in his pockets, staring at the ground. In the lobby, he'd leaned against the wall and gazed at her for a long moment, finally asking if something was wrong.

She couldn't meet his eyes to answer him. "No," she told the potted plant nearby, "nothing is wrong. I just…I'm sorry my trip is over."

"You know, Hermy-o-ninny…Hermione, you are more than velcome to visit me again sometime."

She'd noticed his lapse with her name and glanced up sharply. Apparently he misunderstood the reason for her reaction, because he quickly added, "I mean, you can't haff exhausted Izbor's bookshops already. If, or vhen, you are back here, look me up. You can ask at _Mayka_'s store; she alvays knows vhere I am." He smiled then, a sad, hopeful smile. Impulsively, she'd gone against her resolve and hugged him.

"I'll find you when I come back. I promise."

He'd kissed her hand, the perfect gentleman again, and said, "Goodbye, _svetlina_."

"Goodbye, Viktor," she'd answered, adding, in a whisper as he left, "Goodbye, Vitya."

She'd wanted to tell him about her problems with Ron. She still did. She couldn't decide if it would be acceptable. Viktor was, and had been when they were younger, the kind of friend that you could confide anything in.

Only, when she hugged Harry, the feel of his body didn't burn against hers hours later.

When Ginny joked, Hermione didn't feel her soul jolt as she laughed.

When Fred or George called her 'Mione (which she found rather annoying) or when Molly called her dear, the sounds of their voices didn't dance up her spine like tickling fingers.

She couldn't allow herself to think of Viktor as a man, as a potential partner, ever again. She couldn't tell him her secrets, could she? No, not when she had such a hard time thinking of him as simply a friend.

The shrill ring of the telephone, a convenience she was glad the wizarding community had finally adopted, sliced into her heavy thoughts. Glancing at the clock, she reached for the receiver. It was too late to be Ginny or Harry, and no one else knew she was home except Ron, and he never called.

"Hello?"

"Hi, I was trying to reach Ron Weasley." It was a high-pitched, girlish voice.

"I'm sorry; he's not in right now. May I take a message?" Maybe the quill would be handy after all, Hermione thought absently.

"Oh, sure, thanks! It's Karen, and he has my number already. Are you his secretary? I thought this was his home number."

She had an inkling of what Ron had been doing on her vacation. Surprisingly, she wasn't as upset as she would have expected. Still, this phone call could be interesting.

"Oh, yes, Karen, this is his home number. I'm his wife, actually."

"Wife?"

"Yes, dear, we've been married about ten years. I'll be sure and pass on your message. I hate to be so short, but the baby's just started crying and the twins are fussing and I think our oldest is calling me…"

"Oh…I…I…that's understandable. The message, it's nothing urgent. Thanks, bye." And Karen was gone.

Hermione sat for a moment, laughing. That had been fun. Still…Ron had been dating while she was gone, from the look of things.

Well, she had been too, in a way. Ron would see it as dating. If she even sent a letter to Vitya, (Viktor, she corrected herself) Ron would see it as cheating. He'd been jealous of Viktor long before she'd ever thought of Ron as a boyfriend. In light of that, Ron's indiscretions were forgiven. She wondered why it didn't hurt her.

Maybe she really didn't love him at all anymore.

She decided that she would tell Viktor about her failing marriage. She was still married, and expected to stay that way. She'd made a vow, after all. But she could confide in a friend. She could confide in Viktor.

After leaving the hotel, Viktor had gone back down to the beach and sat by himself in the sand, picking at the loose threads on the ankle of his jeans. Did she want to come back? She had seemed surprised when he invited her. He shouldn't have asked. But then, she'd hugged him, and said that she'd see him when she came back. When, not if. He shouldn't want her to come back. He couldn't have her. He was tormenting himself by spending time with her, but at the same time, knowing he could and staying away would be torture as well. He was a lost man, fighting a battle to the death of his soul.

He could see a shadow in her eyes, like a burned place in melted caramel. He knew she had a secret burden. He wanted more than anything to lift it away, but it wasn't his place to do so. It was Weasley's. Damned lucky man, Viktor hoped he knew how lucky. He had a hard time picturing the pouting redhead he remembered from the Yule Ball treating Hermione like the gift she was. But, people change. Possibly he did appreciate her; Viktor, however, doubted that anyone but him would ever value her the way she deserved. He scooped a rock out of the sand and chunked it into the sea. He wanted to give her everything he had, every shining drop of emotion his heart could produce, on the golden sands of some far-away paradise.

_Splash_. The sound of the thrown stone, sinking under the water, dark in the night. Dark, drowning, like the dreams of the boy he had been when he first loved her. The stone was impossible to reach now, no longer reality but a hidden secret…just like the love he still carried. He lay back on the sand, alone on the beach, and stared at the midnight sky, sprinkled with icy stars that felt more within reach than she did. His heart felt as if for one tiny instant he had stood beside the fire, and could have jumped into the flames; then that instant was taken away and there was no heat to be found. He was cold.

Viktor was still on the beach as the sun rose, and he was still thinking of Hermione. The warmth helped him to feel more alive, strengthening him. He would bury his secret more deeply, try to hide it, no matter how hard it was. When she came back…and she'd said she would, and she had only lied to him once, when she had said she would always love him…when she came back he would be here, as her friend. It would be so much easier if he could forget the way her voice sounded when she whispered _Vitya_.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Hermione was still at her desk, thoughts purely on business now as she made notes about the bookstores she'd visited and which books she'd purchased at each one, when she heard Ron and Seamus coming in.

"Why are the lights on?" Seamus asked.

"I'm not sure," Ron replied. His voice sounded strange, clear. He called out, "Hello?"

Hermione walked into the living room. "It's just me. Did you forget I was coming home today?"

Ron looked at her and smiled. Hermione strangled a gasp.

Ron's eyes were clear. He hadn't been drinking tonight. Did he only drink when she was around? She went to him and hugged him, and, for the first time in ages, he hugged her back. "Did your trip go well? Where were you again, Turkey?"

"No, I was in Bulgaria, in a town called Izbor on the coast of the Black Sea. My trip went really well; I brought back a trunk and two duffle bags full of books. How have you been?"

"Great!" he answered. "I helped bring down a band of wizards from Romania who were smuggling in illegal potions. I was in _The Daily Prophet_."

"I'm really proud of you," she told him. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Nope, and I'm starving. You cooking?"

"Yeah, I'll go make something. Anything in particular? Seamus, are you staying?"

Seamus nodded, and Ron told her anything would be fine. She disappeared into the kitchen. What was going on? Ron was being nice to her, acting more like the old Ron. But then, he hadn't remembered she was coming home, either. As she rummaged in a cabinet, she heard Seamus' voice coming from the next room, rather softly, but still understandable.

"It's a damn good thing you came home alone tonight, mate, or you'd be in trouble right about now." He'd been bringing someone home with him? Had this girl slept in his bed? Maybe she should mention his phone call.

"Oh, Ron," she called, "a couple hours ago, you had a phone call, from someone called Karen. She said you had her number to call her back with, but she didn't seem too anxious to get your call."

"Man, you're busted!" Seamus muttered. "Which one was Karen?"

_Which one?_ She'd be lucky not to get an STD. She was beginning to get angry.

"Thanks," Ron called, then added quietly to Seamus, "she was the blonde, from the university."

"With the huge—"

"Yes, that one. Change the subject."

"Where'd Hermione say she's been? Bulgaria? They have a great Quidditch team, or at least they did until last season."

"What happened last season?" Ron asked. "I haven't been keeping up with them."

"They had a new seeker. I'm not sure why, or if the change is permanent. The first game of the new season is coming in a few weeks; Bulgaria is playing the Cannons here. I'd love to go to that game." Hermione was beginning to feel a tiny bit uncomfortable.

"If you really want to go," Ron sighed, "I suppose I could humble myself to my uppity baby sister and get us tickets."

"Wow, I'd forgotten Ginny was on the team." Hermione knew Ron had to be rolling his eyes at that. "Do you think she could get us passes to meet the players?"

"I'll see what I can do," Ron moaned. "I wouldn't do this for just anyone. Fancy a drink?"

She should have known decent Ron wouldn't last. She called them for dinner, then went back to work.

An hour later, after Seamus had gone, Ron stepped into her office. He walked over and stood behind her chair, hands on her shoulders. He sifted her short hair through his fingers.

"I think I'm going to grow it out again," she told him.

"Why? I thought you liked it short."

She sighed, several reasons running through her head. "I suppose I'm just ready for a change."

"Ok. Want to come to bed?"

She knew from the tone of his voice he wasn't asking if she wanted to sleep. He was asking for sex. She thought about it. She didn't want to have sex with Ron, but she wanted sex. Her body felt wound like a spring from the past few days. She leaned her head back against Ron's hands and thought about her desires. She wanted to feel the sand of the Black Sea coast on her bare skin, with a blanket of stars in a midnight sky covering her, and eyes as dark as that sky gazing down into her own, glowing with love, burning with passion. This thought, this vision of Viktor, stabbed through her, igniting both a flame of need and a desperate guilt.

She took Ron's hand, and let him lead her to their room, but it wasn't Ron she made love to. Eyes closed, she was with someone else, and when it was over, she and her dream lover washed the sweat and sand off of their bodies with cool water from the Black Sea.

Afterwards, when her guilty fantasies had fled, Hermione picked up a scent she hadn't noticed before, and she decided it was time to approach the problem. She may have enjoyed Viktor's company during her trip, but she had done nothing more than hug him, and that only happened once. Ron's behavior was entirely different. "Ron," she asked, "why does my pillow smell like perfume?"

She felt her husband stiffen beside her in the dark, but he didn't answer. She waited a few minutes then switched on the bedside lamp. Ron was staring at the ceiling, with tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and one of the salty beads slid down his eyelash to his cheek, then onto the perfume-scented sheets. "It helps. It helps the ache of never being good enough, to be with someone who is less than I am."

Hermione slid out of bed and grabbed her huge, cushy robe, wrapping herself in it, closing herself off. "We need to talk, Ron, really talk, tonight, when you don't have enough alcohol in you to be incomprehensive."

"Then I need more alcohol in me," he snorted. "Hermione, I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to hear about how I've failed yet again. I don't want my wife to make me feel two centimeters tall. I want to be left alone, except for a meal and a fuck once in awhile." He rolled over, facing away from her. She went to the living room, grabbing a pillow and blanket from the hall closet on her way to the couch. She didn't want to sleep beside Ron or on that perfumed pillow.

Somehow, though, his infidelity didn't hurt like it should have, even now that she knew the extent of it. She wasn't hurt, and she wasn't jealous. She was just…annoyed, that her bed had been used. If he'd been in a hotel room, she didn't think she'd be bothered by it. Hermione realized, sitting on the lumpy sofa with her chin on her knees, arms wrapped around her legs, holding herself, that she didn't care about Ron. She cared about the boy Ron who had been her friend, and she felt a kind of reminiscent love for the young man she'd married in the early days of the war, but she felt nothing for the Ron she'd known since the night of final battle. She wept that night, slow, sad, tears for emotions long past that could never be recaptured. When the sun rose, however, she accepted that it was only her promise keeping her married, keeping her from true happiness.

Unfortunately, Hermione didn't break promises.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Over the next couple of days, Hermione found herself very anxious to leave London. She needed to make another trip to France, anyway; she'd gotten a letter from the bookshop owner she'd met there suggesting some texts he thought she'd be interested in. She made quick, rather perfunctory visits to Harry's and Ginny's and to her in-laws' house.

As her departure date drew nearer, Hermione couldn't help thinking that it would be incredibly easy to Apparate to Bulgaria for a day before going to France. She planned to shrink her luggage and Apparate to France anyway; why not make a side trip?

She only wanted to check on Viktor, like a good friend would do, because he'd looked so sad when she left. That is the excuse she kept giving herself. If she admitted she wanted to see him because she cared too much, she wouldn't allow herself to go. She was married.

Not that her husband bothered remembering his promise. Even though, she was going to keep hers, she thought, setting her determination firmly in place. She would visit Viktor, a purely platonic visit, maybe have a friendly dinner, but nothing more. He couldn't be hers. _Nevermore_, quoth the raven, the dark shadow on her heart.

Hermione walked slowly down a Muggle street in Izbor, headed toward Mrs. Krum's bookstore. She had no idea how she planned to ask about Viktor's whereabouts; she didn't want to just ask, not after overhearing…over-reading their conversation about her. She reached the door and pulled it open, still with no idea in mind.

She was surprised to find Mrs. Krum standing just inside the door, purse in hand.

"Oh, I am sorry, but I am closing store now. Did not realize you vere still in town, Mrs. Granger."

"I'm not, exactly. I just came over for a day or so to…pick up some books I changed my mind about."

"I am sorry, but I haff appointment I haff to keep. Usually Viktor vatches store if I haff to go somevhere, but he is coaching his little Quidditch kids today."

"It's no problem, Mrs. Krum. I'm sure I'll be back another day; I can come by then. Thank you," Hermione replied, turning to leave. She had gotten the information she wanted, without a bit of work! Maybe this day would go in her favor.

She hurried back to the wizarding section of town and asked a passerby (with the help of her parchment) where the kids' Quidditch team practiced. She had little trouble finding the pitch and quietly crept into the stands to join a few parents sitting there. They were absorbed in watching their children and paid little attention to her. Hermione, however, had eyes for no one but Viktor.

She hadn't seen him on a broom since her fourth year at Hogwarts. She still had sweet memories of flying with him, cradled against his chest with the wind on their faces, flying high enough to not be recognized from the ground and stealing kisses. He was magnificent on the broom, fast, graceful, powerful, and oh-so-masculine. Watching him fly, thinking about how sexy he was in the air, caused a deep heat to spread through Hermione's body. Was it possible to have sex on a broom?

He'd been flying the first time she'd ever seen him, at the Quidditch World Cup when she was fourteen. She'd gone with Harry and the Weasleys. Even then, she'd thought of sex when she watched him fly, even though at the time she had no experience in the ways of men and love. Neither had Ginny, yet they'd lain awake that night talking about how hot watching Viktor Krum zip through the air had been. Ginny confessed that night that she'd had naughty thoughts watching Harry fly, too, even though she had tried to get over her crush on him. Hermione doubted she'd think of sex even if she saw Harry naked with a rose in his teeth.

But Viktor naked with a rose in his teeth…

Damn it, why was she thinking about this, losing herself in memories? She was at a Quidditch pitch, watching nine-year-olds on junior brooms toss around a Quaffle. She should not be aroused by any means. It had to be their coach's flying. Surely once he landed her body would cool down.

Half an hour later, when his feet hit the ground, she knew her reaction had little to do with Viktor's location. He walked with the kids up to the stands, talking with parents, speaking to kids, until they were gone. She was sitting alone, and his eyes met hers. A broad grin crossed his face and the sun rose in his eyes.

"Hermione! Vhat are you doing here? You haff not been gone long."

She answered him, suddenly uncertain, "I…I have to go to France tonight. I just thought I'd come over and see you for a bit. I mean, if you don't have plans tonight. I suppose I should have called first."

"If I had plans, I vould cancel them for you, _svetlina_. I am very happy you come to see me. But, if you are vanting to go somevhere, I am afraid I must haff a shower first. I am very hot and sveaty."

A sudden image from her fantasy from the other night popped into her head: Viktor, panting above her body, gazing down at her with those dark eyes, sweat dripping off his chest onto her face and body. Her hands sliding down the wet, slick skin of his back to grip his ass as he moved inside of her. The heat she'd been feeling from watching him fly engulfed her in a full-fledged burn.

"We can do anything you'd like; I just wanted to see you." She hoped he couldn't read her thoughts in her eyes tonight. "Actually, I'd like to talk some, if you don't mind."

"Do you vant to go to my house then? I vill clean up and fix something to eat, and ve can talk as long as you like, about anything you like. Or vould you being at my house bother your husband?"

"Vitya," she answered, not even noticing her use of the name, "at this moment I couldn't care less what would bother my husband."

His eyebrows rose at her cryptic remark, but he didn't comment on it. "I live nearby. Vould you like…" His voice faded away as he looked at the broom in his hand, but seemed to think better of it. "Vould you like to valk?"

She took his offered arm and asked about his team. The stroll to his cottage was filled with small talk, simple, innocent chitchat, but Hermione kept having to push hot, vivid images to the back of her mind.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Viktor ran his hands through his hair in the steam-filled bathroom, staring into the mirror. Hermione was in his hometown, in his house, in his kitchen. Dinner would be quicker, she'd said, if she cooked while he showered. He was relieved; ramen noodles were his specialty, although he could make a mean ham sandwich.

She was in his house. She'd come to Izbor to see him. On the walk over, she'd told him about going to his mother's shop, using books as an excuse, to find him. She was only here for him, not for work. And she'd called him Vitya. She wanted to talk to him. Did he have a chance?

He sighed and stepped into the shower, letting the water pound the back of his neck, hot enough to turn his skin pink. How could he let his heart hope? She was married; he'd lost his chance. Maybe if she was unhappy—and she seemed unhappy—she would leave Weasley. Then he could show her how much he still loved her; he could win her heart again and she would be his. He could love her so well. He would hold her every night, watching her sleep. Every morning he would watch as rays of sunshine came through the open blinds and made her hair shine as if there were streaks of gold in it. As she woke, he would kiss her slowly, over and over, starting each morning with sweet kisses. He would tell her every day how much she meant to him.

Viktor hit his fist against the wall, sending the water droplets clinging to the dark hair on his arm flying. Why was he thinking like this? He could not have her. He knew he couldn't. Those kinds of thoughts would build his hopes up, only to have them crushed again. Once upon a time he'd been eighteen, crazy in love, picturing a fairytale life with this girl; then all of his dreams had been shattered with one tear-stained letter.

As he scrubbed the sweat off of his body, he remembered the heat in her eyes at the pitch. She wanted him; he was sure of that. What if she just wanted sex? Was that why she'd come? Surely not; she could have sex with her husband. Damned lucky man.

Viktor stepped out, toweling his hair dry. If she did, by some chance, just want to sleep with him, he knew he'd have to turn her down. He wanted so much more; he wouldn't settle for a one-night stand, no matter how hard it would be to say no. He wanted a future, and he wouldn't get that unless she was leaving Weasley. If she offered him that future, he would make love to her until her neither one of them could even move out of the bed, and then he'd do it all over again.

He pulled on a pair of jeans and headed for the kitchen, doubling back to grab a shirt. He seldom wore one in the house, but he didn't think he could take it if she touched his skin. Then Viktor stepped into the kitchen, with a smile and an uncertain resolve, because his every dream was waiting inside, with dinner ready.

Hermione peeked into one of Viktor's cabinets, just curiously exploring. She hadn't actually found much yet.

"Nothing but noodles in that vone, I am afraid," came his voice from behind her. She whirled, embarrassed to be caught snooping, to see him leaning against the doorframe. He laughed as she admired his physique. He was wearing worn, faded jeans, with a hole in one knee, and a button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up almost to his elbows and only the bottom half of the buttons fastened. She could see dark hair peeking out at her. His arms were crossed over his chest and she could see the bulges of his biceps. His feet were bare and he had water drops in his hair. His eyes laughed at her, beautiful brown, dancing happily, teasing. His smile—God, that smile!—was sweet and mischievous, innocent and sexy, all at the same time. She was so incredibly aware of this man, even though she knew better.

"I think something is burning," he said, still smiling, still giving her that joyful look. It took every ounce of her willpower to turn back to the stove.

After dinner, they went into his living room, where he sank into a huge, plushy couch. Blissfully, she snuggled into the other end. She was in love with his sofa.

"Vhat vas it you vanted to talk about, _svetlina_?" he asked gently, as if he knew it were something serious, something painful. Even though she'd made up her mind to tell him, and even though she knew he'd be wonderful about it—he was already wonderful about it—she was nervous all of a sudden, and it felt as if a tension had filled the room, making their conversation heavier, thicker, more difficult. It felt as if Ron had stepped into the room, and she was afraid, suddenly, to put everything she felt into words. She was that afraid once she told Viktor, she couldn't help but fall for him. She buried her face in her hands and choked out a sob.

In an instant she felt him next to her, his hand on her back, offering his support without even knowing the problem. In that instant, she felt as though she would love him whether she told him about her marriage or not. She was tired, resigned, exhausted with the day-to-day dealing with her husband, but at the same time, something tiny, green, and new was growing inside of her. She wanted to nurture it, love it, give it fertilizer; circumstances told her she should uproot it. Even so, she left that tiny growing thing intact, at least for tonight.

"Viktor…" she began, then sighed. "I don't really know how to go about telling you this. I want to talk about my marriage."

"You are haffing problems, are you not? Sometimes I think I see that in your eyes."

"You're right; we're having a lot of problems," she answered, and then she told him about Ron's jealousy and moodiness, and the way he treated everyone, not just her. She told him about Ron's drinking, and how she spent quite a few nights at the Potters' house. He listened to everything she said, letting her talk. An hour or so later, they were leaning against an arm of the deep sofa, legs stretched out, with Hermione snuggled against his side. When she'd told him about how she used to care, and how she didn't care anymore, she'd cried and he'd held her. Now, they were sitting quietly, each lost in thought.

"That is not all of it, is it, Herm-own-ninny?"

She smiled sadly, "You can tell?"

He replied, "I alvays could."

She sighed. "When I got home from my last trip here, I found out he'd been sleeping around, a lot, and bringing these girls home, having them in my bed," she whispered.

Viktor let lose a string of Bulgarian words she'd never heard before. "Vitya," she said, tugged his sleeve, "I don't really care about the girls. Mostly I'm just pissed that he had them in my house." She looked up then, tears shining in her eyes like diamond stars. "I don't love him at all anymore, and I don't think I ever will. I think, possibly, that hurts the most. I'm married to someone I can't love."

"Leave him, _svetlina_," Viktor said, voice low and rough, filled with gravel. "Leave him and let me love you instead."

She pulled away from him, from his embrace. He had diamond stars in his eyes, too, and his voice was so full of emotion she thought it would break. "I can't," she whispered. "I can't. I made a promise."

"So did he. He broke his. That voids yours, does it not?"

"I made a promise, and I don't break promises."

"You did vonce. Vonce upon a time you promised me you vould alvays love me." His voice was painful to hear now, full of tears, emotion, heartbreak. It hurt her to hear it.

"Vitya…I didn't break that one, either." With that soft remark, she was gone, out of his house, out of Izbor, out of Bulgaria.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Viktor sat on his huge plushy couch all alone and cried. He knew he shouldn't have said anything about loving her. He should have been a friend, a shoulder to cry on, and nothing else. He had hoped, desperately hoped, for a few minutes that maybe, possibly, she could be his. But no, she wouldn't allow herself to love him. She would stay with her husband, even though she didn't care, and all he did was hurt her. Damn Weasley! Viktor wanted to tear him apart like a gingerbread man. He had everything Viktor had ever wanted and he threw it away. The man was an idiot; he always had been. How could he have her and throw her away? It was beyond Viktor's comprehension. If she were his, he would cradle her in his heart like a priceless jewel.

Viktor got off the couch and went to his bedroom. He undressed and slid between the cool sheets. Blue moonlight came through the blinds, leaving stripes across his pillow. He lay on his stomach, staring at the stripes, tracing one with his finger. He felt as though his entire life was like the pillow. It was darkness, with strips of light in it, like his mother and his kids' team and professional Quidditch. But even those stripes were only pale, diminished light compared to the sun that wasn't shining in his life. His sunshine had given him hope again, made him think that maybe he had a chance to see golden light filling his life again. For a few brief moments in time, he'd felt the warmth on his face, but then he cooled again, and his sunshine, his light, his _svetlina_ was gone. He was left in night, with a few soft streaks of cool moonlight. Viktor curled up, lonely in his king-size bed, and went to sleep with tears on his eyelashes and visions of her on his mind.

Hermione pushed open the door to her home on a Saturday afternoon, weary from a week of work and emotional confusion. Voices from the living room told her Ron was home, and she wasn't up to dealing with him right now. She slipped in, quietly, hoping she would be ignored. Seamus came into the hallway, bottle in hand.

"You had an owl earlier. Ron wanted to read it, but I didn't let him. I put it in your office; I don't think he's been in there since."

How sad that her husband's drinking buddy cared more about her than he did. "Thanks, Seamus; I really appreciate it."

She was expecting the letter to be from Tiddlywink, asking about her trip. She was surprised to find the parchment covered in the Cyrillic alphabet, instead. Who else could it be from but Viktor? She hadn't expected to hear from him unless she went looking, especially after the way she had run away on her last visit. She pulled out her parchment to translate; he had been clever to write it in Bulgarian so Ron couldn't read it.

_Hermione,_

_I am sorry about the way I reacted when you told me about your husband and your marital problems. I have cared about you for years, since we were kids at Hogwarts. It tears me up that Ron has something I value so much as you, and he doesn't treat the opportunity as a privilege. I understand that you want to keep your promise, even if he did not. I do not understand why, after everything he has put you through, but if you say you must, then I accept that. I apologize for my declarations of love, although I can not and will not take them back. If you want nothing more than friendship, I will accept only that. Just understand that I would not hurt you for anything in the world, and I am very, very sorry if I did._

_I will be in England in three weeks for a Quidditch match. I would love to see you then, if you wish, or any other time._

** Viktor**

She was still gazing at his letter, re-reading it, when Ron called from the living room, "We're going out!"

Suddenly, she realized she didn't want to be alone. She picked up the phone and dialed Ginny's number. Soon her friend arrived, with a bulging bag of goodies. "Harry's keeping Ana tonight," she informed Hermione. "I thought we could use a girls' night."

Later, beneath a mud mask, Ginny told Hermione that she seemed different. "What's changed?"

How should she answer this? She didn't want to tell her sister-in-law about Viktor. Somehow, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't place him firmly in the 'friend' box. Instead, she told her about Ron's escapades with the ladies, which had also changed her life, although not quite as strongly as Viktor's reappearance in it had.

"That bastard!" Ginny cried, horrified. "Is that where he is tonight?"

"I expect so," Hermione replied.

"How can you stand it? I would kill Harry! And then I'd withhold sex for the rest of his life!"

"Honestly, Ginny, I don't care. You can't understand it, because you and Harry still love each other. Ron and I don't."

Ginny sat up and looked her in the eye. "Hermione, you are unhappy, both of you. Everyone knows it and we all see it. You should leave him. He's my brother, and I love him because of that, but he's not a good person anymore. Just let him go, and make yourself happy."

"Gin, I can't. I made a promise."

"The only thing stopping you from being happy is your damn pride. So you made a promise, big deal! So did he, and he's broken it. The first women he touched released you from any obligation. Swallow your pride and break the damned promise."

"That's pretty much what Vitya said," Hermione murmured, more to herself than to Ginny.

"Who?"

"An old friend I ran into on one of my trips."

Ginny gazed at her for a long moment, eyes filled with skepticism. "We all want you to be happy. The way I see it, your pride is the only thing stopping you."

"Let's drop it, ok? I'm staying," Hermione said sharply. Ginny shrugged and started talking about Ana.

The phone was ringing. Hermione groped in the dark for it, wondering what kind of emergency it was. Groggily, she answered the phone. Ron's voice came on the line, so slurred she couldn't understand him.

"Where are you?" she asked, trying to hear background noise. Then a stern voice came on the line, informing her that Ron had been arrested and she needed to come pick him up unless she wanted him to spend the night in jail. She wouldn't have minded, really.

When she got down to the station, Ron was snoring in his cell. After paying his bail, she asked why he was there. She was shocked to find out that he'd tried to put his hands in a waitress's skirt and succeeded in getting one in her top. She woke him up, trying to get him to come with her. All he did was pull her down onto the cot beside him. "C'mon Tiffany, c'mon ba'y, less go right here ri' now, on the fl'r." He was reaching up her blouse. She wrenched herself away from him, disgusted, and turned, face red, to the police officer waiting by the cell door.

"Do you think perhaps you could help me get him to the car?" she asked politely. He gave her a sympathetic smile and obliged.

After she had dragged Ron inside and deposited him on that lumpy old couch, she went into her office and cried. She couldn't handle this tonight; she needed to talk to someone. Who could she go to at this time of night? The parchment with the Cyrillic letters caught her eye. He wouldn't mind. He would be there for her any time she needed him. He would willingly be her rock.

Moments later, her feet crunched down onto the gravel of Viktor's driveway.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Hermione stood staring at Viktor's door. It was three in the morning; she shouldn't be here. A good wife would be home, taking care of her husband. Of course, a good husband wouldn't be passed out on the couch from a night of drinking, groping women, and being arrested. She wanted to be here with Viktor. She couldn't force herself to stay home with Ron, not when he behaved the way he had tonight. She needed, at this moment in time, to be weak for a change, to cry, to have someone to hold on to.

She wondered, briefly, as she walked slowly toward the door, if it was wrong to put Viktor through this, especially after their conversation the last time she'd seen him. He still cared for her. He'd asked her to leave Ron.

How could he still care for her? Was she even the same person as the girl he'd known? She'd been through a war since then! Surely she had changed. But then, he seemed so like the boy she'd known, and he had fought in the war as well. She'd heard his named mentioned in connection with foreign movements. Every time, she'd felt a jolt to her heart. At the time, she'd written it off as mere memory: a worry for a boy she'd once known, an affection she'd once had. At the time, she'd thought Ron would always be the only one for her. She could look back now and see that Viktor had stayed inside her heart, hiding, waiting for her to remember and love him again. Now she was on his doorstep in the middle of the night, desperate for someone to care about her, and she remembered. She still loved him.

With a deep breath, she knocked on his door.

A sound crept in through uneasy dreams. Rap-rap-rap, a fist on wood, a tentative tapping. Viktor sat up, eyes bleary, hair tousled, glancing at the clock. Who on earth was knocking on his door? He stumbled to the living room, still confused from sleep. He pulled open the door and stared in shock.

Hermione. What the hell was she doing here in the middle of the night? Part of him wanted to shut the door and go back to bed. He knew, without a doubt, he would be hurting before she left, in one way or another. He sighed. She had tears on her cheeks and hurt in her eyes. He knew he could never turn her away, even though he knew she'd leave him bleeding inside when she went.

"Hermy-own-ninny…Vhat…_greshen_…_ne_…" He ran his hand over his face, trying to find his English. "Vhat vrong?"

"Vitya…" she whispered, tears in her voice, "I needed someone…"

He knew better, but that voice, speaking his name like that, tore at his heart. He reached for her, drawing her close. She felt so good, soft, sweet, even though she was shaking slightly with small sobs. He knew he was a drowning man. "I am here," he said quietly, speaking slowly, still having to think to find his words. "Tell me, _svetlina_, vhat matter is. I fix if can."

"I need to cry," she murmured against his chest. She sounded so small and lost. She was breaking his heart again.

"Then cry." She let loose, great wracking sobs coming from her small frame. He held her closer, whispering soft Bulgarian words, wanting her to feel safe and cherished even though he had no idea what was going on.

Several minutes later, those sobs faded to quiet hiccups. A rough wind was blowing, raising their skin in shivery bump, and Viktor could taste rain on the air. He heard a soft roll of thunder, still far off, but coming. "Ve should go in house, _svetlina_," he whispered into her hair. "Storm coming. Need to talk?"

Hermione nodded, but she didn't move. Maybe she was simply too tired to go any further, Viktor thought. Crying like that would wear anyone out. He scooped her up, surprising a gasp out of her, getting her attention. She looked at him questioningly, eyes big, like those of a tearful child. "I am cold," he told her, even though he wasn't. He knew she was. "Ve need go in house. It is starting to rain."

"I can walk."

"I can carry you." He wanted to have her close, to take this moment, because he might never get another chance to feel her in his arms like this. Tonight, he was the man she had turned to. He would be anything she needed.

Another rumble of thunder sounded, louder, as he settled her on the couch by his side. She wasn't crying now; she was watching him with a peculiar look on her face, somewhere between misery and pleasure. Perhaps he wasn't the only person confused.

Viktor pushed her hair out of her eyes, gently, and murmured, "Are you going to tell me vhy you showed up at my door in middle of the night?"

The tiny glint of pleasure was gone from her eyes in an instant, replaced by fury. She told him about her husband's latest adventure. When she told him about his drunken comments in the jail cell, Viktor had to choke back his opinions and fight clenching his fists. How could any man do that to his wife, particularly to _this_ wife? He understood her need to run. But…

"Vhy my door, Hermione? Vhy not Potter or somevone else?"

"I don't know, Viktor." She looked up at him. She _did_ know. It was there in her eyes, swirling in the caramel. Her eyes told him all the things he wanted to hear her voice say. She loved him and she wanted to be with him. She wanted to leave Weasley. Why else would she run to another man? She wanted to stay.

He was lost, surrounded by the message he found there. Surely she would stay now. Please, please, let her stay. He didn't mean to kiss her, but his face was tilting down to hers; his eyes were closing; he was tasting her soft lips. Her arms were sliding around his waist—God, why hadn't he worn a shirt to bed?—and her mouth was responding to his, sweetly, gently, yet eagerly. He cupped her face with his hand and knew right where he wanted her to be. He needed her in his life. Please, let her stay with him.

Hermione broke the kiss and looked away, down at her hands, tracing her finger over the thin band on her left ring finger. She couldn't look at Viktor, not now, not when she knew his heart would be in his eyes. He wanted her to stay, and she wanted to. He had kissed her and she had kissed him back. It was wrong, and she shouldn't have done it, but it felt so incredibly perfect. She was teetering on the line of promise-breaking. No, she thought, she had broken it. Surely, after Ron's behavior, such a minor breech of contract was acceptable. She was still in the clear, she decided.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "That shouldn't have happened. Thank you, though, for listening. I needed someone to talk to."

Viktor groaned, and she looked at him, sweeping her eyes over his pajama pants and the dark hair on his chest. He, too, was staring at his hands. He sighed, then looked up, meeting her eyes. He looked torn, tortured. She shouldn't be doing this to him. Thunder burst above them, loudly, and she heard rain pounding the roof.

"Hermione," he said, voice rough, "I am only a man. I love you. I know you care for me. If you vant friendship, I do my best to giff you only that. But friendship must be casual, simple. Must be lunch vhen you are in town, easy. Ve both care too much to share deep friendship. It hurts too much. Either leave your husband, and be vith me, or do not show up at my door in middle of night. I am only a man, man who loves you, and I cannot take it."

He stood and walked to the door, refusing to look at her again. In the doorway he turned, met her eyes again, and said sharply, "Blankets and pillows in hall closet. Sleep vell." Then he was gone.

She sat for awhile, watching rain streaming down the window, thoughts ripping through her head. She was hurting him. She didn't want to, didn't mean to. She wanted desperately to leave Ron, run to Izbor, and love Viktor. She wanted to give that tiny green growing thing inside of her a chance to grow and blossom. She wanted to go down the hall, climb into bed with the man in the bedroom, and hold him for the rest of her life. She wanted so many things, so much of her future, to include him.

But to reach him, she had to overcome that damned pride keeping her with Ron. She curled herself into a tight ball on Viktor's sofa and wept like her heart was broken.

In the next room, so did he.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Viktor woke late the next morning after a night of fitful, wishful dreams and lay in bed, listening. The house was quiet. Either she was gone or she was still asleep. He hoped she was gone; he didn't want to have to face her this morning. She was leaving. He knew it when he went to sleep last night. Part of him had already realized it when he tossed out his ultimatum. He hated doing that, but he felt as though every time she showed up he was left hurting. He was strong…but he wasn't strong enough to be her part-time pseudo-boyfriend. He wanted all or nothing.

Last night, after his own quiet tears had stopped, he'd lain in bed listening to her sobs from the living room. Twice he'd walked to the door of his room, and twice he'd gotten back in bed. He couldn't go to her. If she chose him, it had to be entirely her choice. She wasn't the kind to leave him wondering; she would have come to him if she'd picked him. She hadn't come.

He couldn't imagine why she preferred Weasley, especially after everything he'd done. The only advantage over him that Weasley had, as far as Viktor could see, was a piece of paper, a marriage license.

He got out of bed and dressed. It was chilly in the house; outside it was still misting rain. He went into the living room where Hermione was still sleeping. Quietly he crept to the couch and gazed at her. She had streaks on her cheeks from her tears during the night. He wanted to pick her up, take her to his bed, lie beside her and hold her. He wanted to be there when she woke up so he could convince her to let him love her. He wanted desperately to be her man.

Instead, he quietly built a fire in the fireplace to knock the chill out of the air. She stirred but she didn't wake up. He made coffee, drinking his in the kitchen and leaving a cup for her on the coffee table with a scribbled note underneath. He couldn't be here when she left. He didn't want to watch her leave him again. He grabbed his cloak off its hook by the back door and got his fastest broom out of the shed. He needed a good hard ride. With any luck, she'd be gone by the time he came back, and he'd be too exhausted to think about her absence.

After she'd washed her face and drank her coffee, Hermione sat on Viktor's sofa, note in hand. It simply read

Gone Flying.

Viktor

He'd known, somehow, that she wasn't staying. He didn't want to be here when she left, hadn't wanted to say goodbye. An ache welled up inside of her, but she crushed it down. She should leave now and stay away from him. She was hurting him every time she came to Izbor. At that moment, she felt like the most horrible worm that ever existed. This man had been nothing but wonderful, and she ripped him into little pieces nearly every time she saw him. She needed to stay away. She got up and washed her cup, tucking his last note into her pocket. She left his house and looked around the sky, hoping for at least a glimpse of him, but he was nowhere in sight.

She somehow couldn't force herself to leave Izbor, so she strolled through town, looking for somewhere to go. Mrs. Krum's shop was open. Hermione stood at the door, debating whether or not to go in. After a moment, she pushed it open.

"Thought you vould be back. I think ve need talk." Mrs. Krum's unhappy voice surprised her.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked. Surely Viktor hadn't told his mum…?

"You not come to Izbor for books, do you? Is in your eyes."

Should she lie? She thought about it. She didn't think she could, not to Viktor's mother with her piercing dark eyes that seemed to read her soul.

"I did the first time."

"And others?"

Slowly, ashamed, Hermione sighed, "No, not the other times."

"You are still married, yes?"

"Yes."

"Then you leave my Vitya alone. My boy had enough hurt from you for two lifetime. You vant him, then not be vith husband. Vitya deserve better than voman who vill no put him first."

Blunt, wasn't she? Hermione understood, though; she felt pretty much the same way. With a nod, she left the shop and Apparated back to her home in London and her hung-over husband, carrying a deep ache and an even deeper longing inside of her.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Viktor stepped out of the shower, toweling dry. His muscles ached with every move after spending all day on the broom, and the touch of sunburn he'd gotten when the mist burned off didn't help matters any. He doubted he'd be able to move in the morning. He had hoped the screaming ache from his limbs would be enough to drown the sad song in his heart, but it wasn't. When he'd come in the back door and seen her coffee cup in the drainer, something inside of him had clenched. He'd gone through the living room and seen her blanket folded neatly on the couch with her pillow on top of it; he'd felt a knife to his heart. He knew they would have her scent on them. He wished the pillows and blankets on his bed carried her scent instead.

He heard a knock on the door and hastily pulled on his jeans. He hurried toward the door, water drops across his shoulders and back, frustrated at having his shower interrupted. It wouldn't be Hermione; she wouldn't be back soon like this. Maybe she wouldn't be back at all.

Before he could reach the door it popped open and his mother stepped though. She spoke to him in Bulgarian, beaming at him. "Oh, Vitya, there you are. I wondered what was taking so long. You shouldn't go around without a shirt; you'll catch cold. I brought you a plate of dinner. You don't eat properly."

Viktor ran a hand through his damp hair. "Mama, what are you doing here? I can dress myself and fix my own food, you know." It was unusual for her to act like this. He knew she loved him, but she didn't become obsessive about taking care of him unless something was going on.

"I don't know what you mean, Vitya. I just want to make sure you're taken care of. What were you planning to eat tonight?"

"That's beside the point. What's up?"

She gave him a look that could melt steel and brushed past him to slide the plate into the refrigerator. Then she bustled into the living room, stopping short when she saw the pillow and blanket on the couch. He hadn't been able to bring himself to move them. She spun around and planted a small finger in his chest.

"Viktor Krum! That girl slept over last night, didn't she? I raised you better than to mess around with married women! I saw her this morning, oh yes I did! With her clothes and hair rumpled! I guessed where she'd been, and I gave her a piece of my mind! Now you're going to get a piece of it as well!" Her face was pink with fury and the Bulgarian words were pounding him like darts.

"What did you say to her?" he exclaimed, embarrassed and angry that his mother would take it upon herself to run his love life, or utter lack thereof.

"I told her to leave you alone, that you deserve better! That's not what's important. You know better than to sleep with married women!"

"Mother! Calm down! If I'd slept with her, the pillow and blanket wouldn't be on the couch, would they?"

She paused at that, giving it thought, and then starting back up again. "Still, you shouldn't have married women sleeping over, period."

He sighed and sank down onto the couch. He'd been afraid she would become overprotective after his father passed away; she just wanted to be needed. But he wasn't a child and she needed to know that. "Mama," he said, tenderly, gently, "I know you mean well, but I am all grown up. I make my own decisions now. I will go without a shirt if I want to, and I will eat ramen noodles if I want to, and I will sleep with half of Europe if I want to, regardless of marital status. My diet and my sex life are my business."

She sat down on the sofa beside him, looking distraught. "But…Vitya…"

"Mama, I am a grown man. I love you, but please remember that."

"But this girl! She hurts you!"

He sighed. She certainly did hurt him, and he was beginning to feel masochistic. "I can, and will, take care of it. Trust me. And don't scold girls in my place anymore, ok? Now, what did you bring me to eat?" He grinned at her and received a smile in return. She started chatting about cooking and her bridge partners and the bookstore, more like one of her typical visits. He leaned back against the pillow Hermione had used and let his mother talk. He was engulfed by Hermione's scent; it was frustrating, soothing, and arousing all at once.

That night, after his mother had gone, he switched that pillow with the one he usually slept on. He wanted to feel her close for as long as he could, even though he couldn't have her.

"Hermione, we need to talk," Ginny said, leaning against the kitchen counter. She'd come by to bring the tickets for the Cannons game for her, Ron, and Seamus, and tossed in an extra one so Seamus could bring a date. She'd stayed to visit, while Ana gleefully emptied the pots and pans out of the cabinet.

"Hmmm?" Hermione murmured, distracted by the cookie dough she was rolling out.

"You're acting incredibly odd, and I'm pretty sure it's not just Ron."

"How so?" she replied, paying attention now.

"There's this spark…After you starting making trips, there was a glow around you that wasn't there before. Even after Ron's…um…infidelity, you still glowed. Now you aren't."

That was true; Hermione didn't feel particularly glowy. In fact, she felt rather down and out. She had cried several nights since she left Viktor's the last time, missing him, hurting for him, and hating herself for the way she'd treated him. If anything had doused her spark, it had to be his absence in her life since she had rediscovered him in the bookstore.

"I don't know, Gin," she said, fibbing. Ana tugged on her skirt and Hermione handed her some cookie dough. Ginny cocked her head and gave Hermione a scrutinizing look.

"I hate to sound presumptuous, and forgive me if I'm completely off the mark. Have you been seeing someone else too?"

"What?" How had she guessed that?

"I don't know, really; you just seemed really happy for a bit, but now you're moping around. I can't really come up with anything that different about Ron. Are you seeing someone?"

She had been, she supposed; after all, she had kissed Viktor. But she wasn't seeing him now. She didn't want to see that hurt in his eyes or hear his voice go low and pain-filled anymore. She was staying away. "No," she answered Ginny, "I'm not seeing anyone."

"I wouldn't blame you, not after the way my idiot brother treats you. I still think you should leave him." Hermione gave her a pointed stare and handed Ana another glob of cookie dough. "I know; I won't touch that topic again. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you! The stadium manager has rented a large room at a private club for after the game. Since it'll be the first game of the season for both teams, we'll all be there. We've been told to bring guests. How about it?"

Hermione wondered how well that would go over. Quite possibly, if one team was beaten badly, a fight could break out. She knew Seamus would love to go, though; depending on his mood, Ron might, too. "Ok, I'll talk to Ron and Seamus; we'll probably go."

"Harry and Ana will be there; families usually go to these things. Oh, and the only club they could rent happens to be a Muggle club, so just wear nice Muggle clothes to the game."

Hermione laughed. "They're having it at a Muggle club? I can just imagine some of those rowdier Quidditch fans at a Muggle club."

Ginny joined her laughter. "That's why it's teams, friends, and family only. Hopefully we'll be less obvious."

"Yup, until someone blasts off a buttock," Hermione answered, quoting Alastor Moody. She and Ginny dissolved into giggles, and she handed a sticky Ana one last handful of dough, and then put her cookies in the oven. She would be alright. She could live without him. She had her family, who were her best friends. She would make it, she decided, even as that tiny green thing inside of her struggled to live in the darkness she surrounded it with.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Hermione was sitting at her desk at the Ministry, trying to catch up on paperwork. She had a lot of books that needed categorizing and a lot of write-ups she needed to do about her trips. Her inbox was full of scrolls from the shopkeepers she'd met on her trips as well. She was working her way through letters. Most of them were just compliments on the idea of the IWL, but a couple of them were book recommendations. She opened another, surprised to find Cyrillic letters, and immediately had to quash thoughts of Viktor. He was always so close to her mind these days. This wasn't his thick writing, though; the letter was from one of the shopkeepers in Izbor. He had found the second book in a three-part ancient charms set; she had purchased the first and third from him on her first trip. He would hold it for her for a week if she wanted it, but then it would have to go on the shelf. She glanced at the date: three days ago. She considered it for a few minutes, then hurried from her office. She really couldn't miss this opportunity; she didn't think she'd ever find that book again. Besides, she didn't have to see Viktor just because she was in Bulgaria, did she?

She was on her way to Ron's office to let him know she was leaving when Tiddlywink stopped her. His eyes laughed the way Dumbledore's had once upon a time; she had a bit of a soft spot for the old man. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?" he asked.

She grinned at him. "I've just gotten a letter about a book in Bulgaria I wanted. It's the second in an ancient charms trilogy. I have to pick it up in two days or the shopkeeper may sell it. I appreciate you letting me make my own hours ever so much."

He laughed and patted her cheek. "I know what kind of a worker you are, dear. Go get your book, and enjoy your trip." He walked on and she went to tell Ron about her trip.

She landed in Bulgaria just as it was getting dark. She had hoped to make it before the shop closed; now she'd have to get a hotel room for the night. She had forgotten about the two-hour time difference. She checked into her room, showered, and ordered room service. After dinner she sat looking out the window at the Black Sea. Before she knew it, she found herself walking barefoot in the sand, her light skirt swishing around her legs.

This beach was beautiful and she loved this town. What had Viktor told her its name meant? Choice, maybe. She'd have to ask him later.

No, she didn't plan to see him later. She couldn't ask him. She needed to stay away, or she'd hurt him. And quite possibly she would be attacked by his mother. She stifled a giggle at that, and walked down to the surf, kicking playfully at the waves.

"Hermione?"

She turned around and saw him walking toward her, bathed in moonlight. "Hello, Viktor," she answered.

"Vhat are you doing here? Are you here to see me?"

"No, not this time," she said smiling at him. "I came to pick up a book, but I got here later than I meant to and the shops are closed."

"So you came down to play in the vater?" He was smiling at her, hands in his pockets, keeping his distance, and he was beautiful. She wanted to go to him and kiss him, a soft, gentle kiss like the one they'd shared at this house the night Ron was arrested.

"I was looking out the window and it looked so beautiful. I love Izbor. What did you tell me it means?"

"It means choice. Vhen it vas founded, there vere two brothers. Each fell in love vith a girl, vone who lived here, and vone who lived in mountains. The brothers did not vant to live apart, and they haff to decide vhere to live. Finally they decide on coast, and settle here. Then girl from mountains decided to leave her family and marry her love. So they named the town Izbor, choice, because of the choices made then."

"That's a wonderful story."

"Is supposed to be true. I vanted to apologize for my mother's talk the other day," he said, looking uncomfortable. "She come to my house that night and giff me vone, too."

"Does she do that often?"

"Not usually, although more since _Bashta_ died. I think she vants somevone to need her. She lecture me about you, about my diet, and about not vearing shirt."

Hermione giggled and sat down in the sand, leaning back on her arms and looking at the sky. "And did you listen?"

He sat down beside her, although still keeping some distance between them. She wished he would come closer. "No, I told her it vas my business, and I vear vhat I vant and eat ramen noodles, too."

She laughed at that. He reached out and tugged one of her curls. "I think your hair is getting longer."

"I decided to grow it out again."

"It is nice long."

This casual small talk felt all wrong between them, forced somehow. She knew they could do small talk; they had done it comfortably before. Tonight, somehow, the atmosphere felt as though they should be saying many, many different things, deeper things, more intimate things. She wondered if he felt it. She gazed at him in the darkness, and he lay back on the soft sand and stared up at the stars. She could see the tiny specks of light reflected in his dark eyes, and she remembered her fantasy of him in the sand. It felt ages ago.

His voice came soft and tender through the night, a pleasant interruption of her reverie. "I've missed you, _svetlina_. I am sorry I made you leave."

She sighed. "It's ok; I'm sorry I hurt you. So sorry that I've hurt you so many times. And I've missed you too, Vitya, terribly." She lay down on her belly, scooting closer to him. "You've been on my mind ever since I left."

His voice came again, soft, as though the night was filtering it. "Then vhy do you not choose me?"

She picked up a handful of white sand and watched as it sifted between her fingers. Then she picked up another and watched it, time slipping away. Was that what this was? Every day she was losing time she could be spending with Vitya. "I don't know," she whispered. Her voice sounded raw. "I wish I could."

Viktor rolled and raised himself up on one elbow. He studied her for a moment, then touched her cheek. "_Svetlina_," he said, his voice sounding lost once more, "I think perhaps you are too proud."

She didn't know who moved, or who pulled who close, but suddenly her body was tangled with his in the sand, and he was kissing her. She was eagerly, roughly returning his kiss, hot, passionate, under the cool Bulgarian moon. His large hand was on the small of her back, pressing her against his body, and her hand was threaded through his hair. She could taste his tongue and the butterbeer he must have drank earlier, but underneath that, she could taste him. He tasted powerful and raw and earthy, and gentle and loving and sweet. It was a heady mixture, a kiss to get drunk in. They rolled in the sand, never breaking the kiss, until she lay on top of his muscular body. She felt the strength in his hands, despite the gentle hold he had on her. They broke and she laid her face against his shoulder, panting slightly, feeling his heart beating beneath her.

She felt his hand in her hair, and he was purring soft words to her that she didn't understand. Then she was crying against him, and he held her tighter. Soon she stopped and lay there, wishing this would never end. He whispered into her hair, "Still, _svetlina_, you vill not stay. I know this. Let me haff this vone moment vith you, and then I vill let you go again. I am sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Vitya," she answered quietly against his neck. "I needed this moment too." So he held her until the moon was high in the sky, and then they both left the sand and went off into darkness again.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Viktor walked slowly up his driveway in the dark. His house, like always, waited empty, the windows like black eyes watching him walking to the door. He went inside, turning on lights, trying to chase away the chill the night cast over his home. Her blanket was still on his couch. He had left it there, just the way she had folded it, so it would hold her scent as long as possible. Her pillow only smelled like his shampoo now. He scooped up the blanket and took it to his room, then stripped off his clothes to get in bed, sending a shower of sand to the floor. He'd never get his sheets clean if he went to bed like this. He pulled off his boxers and tossed them on top of the pile on the floor, then strode nude into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Viktor stood in front of the mirror, gazing at himself, doing inventory. She wanted him, wanted his love; he had no doubts about that, even if she wouldn't leave her husband. But that kiss they'd just shared had told him she wanted more than just his emotions.

Viktor had never thought of himself as sexually desirable. Fans chased him, yes, but they were interested in the fame, he thought, not in his body. He was interested in seeing what Hermione saw. His hair had sand in it; his eyes looked…confused. They were tired, sad, happy, and halfway aroused. How intriguing, that his eyes showed everything he was feeling, all at once, there in the midnight brown. He wondered if she could read everything that easily in his eyes. And how had he gotten sand in his chest hair? He ran his hand over it, brushing it out. His hand was large; he held it up and looked at it. It was the same hand he'd always seen, the same hand that had caught numerous snitches, but tonight he pictured it cradling her breasts, skimming over her hip, pulling her against him. He thought it would be a good hand for those things, along with its partner. The muscles in his arms, chest, stomach, and legs were well-defined from so many hours on a broom; that appealed to women, didn't it?

He ran his hand over his abs to cradle himself. There was sand there, too. He had a sudden image of her in her hotel room, brushing sand out of her crevices the way he was. He had been at half-mast since that hot kiss on the beach; that vision brought him fully erect. He moaned and slid his hand down the length.

Seldom did he allow himself to fantasize about her; it was painful. Usually, when Viktor touched himself, he thought of blurred images, nothing real or concrete. Tonight, he wanted—no, he needed—to think of her. He wanted to imagine her in the shower with him. He wanted to imagine himself washing her back, then she would turn around and he would wash her front.

Viktor stepped into the shower, letting the steam roll around him, and thought of her, eyes closed, using his hand. With soap clinging to her body and water pounding on them both, she would press against him and kiss him, just the way she did on the beach tonight, a lover's kiss. He would lift her legs around his waist and lean her against the wall, sheathing himself in her body, and they would both be lost. Lost in each other, lost in love, lost in hope for the future. At the moment he came, a sob racked his chest. It was an intense sensation: the purest physical pleasure mixed with his deepest emotional hurt. The few times he'd thought of her, it had always ended this way. He wished desperately as he washed himself that someday she would choose him.

When he was clean, dry, and sand-free, Viktor slipped into bed, skin against clean sheets dappled with moonlight, and curled up with her blanket like a child with a lovey.

As he drifted to sleep, he wished, once again, that Hermione was here instead of the blanket, to be his lovey forever.

The next afternoon, after she'd gotten her book, Hermione found herself in the Quidditch stadium again, watching Viktor's junior team's last match. He hadn't been able to meet her for lunch because he was practicing with the Bulgarian team. Last night, at parting, they had resolved to keep things platonic, casual, even though neither of them wanted it. She had a strong suspicion that that resolve wouldn't hold very long; every time they were alone, they were drawn to one another.

She was glad when one of Viktor's kids, a beaming girl of ten or so, grasped the Snitch and landed. She watched Viktor laughing and congratulating his team as they bounced around and pulled on his Quidditch robes. He was terrific with kids; she could easily picture him as a dad. He escaped the exuberant bunch and made his way to the stands, plopping down on the seat in front of Hermione.

"That bunch exhausts me!" She laughed along with him, neither of them noting the short lady making her way toward them with smoke seeping from her ears.

"They are making me take them for pizza, to celebrate. Vould you like to come?"

"Sure," she replied, "but I have to go home soon afterwards."

"_Viktor Lyuben Krum_!" They both jumped at the shout from behind them. "Vhat do I tell you! And you, girl!"

"_Mayka,_" Viktor replied calmly, "Vhat did _I_ tell _you_?"

She glared at him. "I tell you leave married girls alone!"

"Ve are friends, _Mayka_; that is all. Vould you like to join us, and the kids, for pizza tonight?"

Hermione was slightly horrified; she was a just a wee bit terrified of Viktor's mother. She supposed it would a proper way to prove that they were just friends, though. Mrs. Krum was still glaring at her.

"I go vith you to make sure you behave properly. I think I raise nice boy. You are shaming your mama."

Viktor's glare softened and he stood up, hugging his mother and whispering to her. After a moment, her eyes softened as well. She patted Hermione's hand and said, "I sorry, dear. Did not realize you haff so much trouble finding vay around. My nice boy, to help girl in new country."

Viktor grinned at her sheepishly over his mother's head. Trust him to come up with something to sooth his mother's feelings. And it was true, in an odd sort of way. By spending time with Viktor, she was seeing what she considered to be Bulgaria's very best attraction.

He sat with his mother during dinner, with Hermione across the table, and they chatted amicably about books and Izbor. His mother told her a couple of stories about Viktor as a boy, which caused his face to turn pink and Hermione to giggle at Mrs. Krum's dramatic antics. She was rather fun now that she didn't think Hermione was out to corrupt and break her son. Mrs. Krum left early, reassured that Viktor had no interest in married women, to play cards with her friends. Viktor and Hermione waited around until the kids and their parents were all gone; most of them came up and talked to Viktor before they left. Hermione was glad when the evening finally ended.

They walked along the sidewalk, chatting about simple, easy things. Hermione was teasing him about his middle name.

"Where did they get Lyuben?"

He chuckled. "From my grandfather. Could be vorse, though. My other grandfather was named Zhivko. Besides, I vould think you vould like Lyuben."

"Oh? Just because it's yours?"

"No, silly girl. I think you like it because it means love."

The atmosphere changed between them with that one word. The night that had been so easy seconds before was suddenly pressing in upon them. Love. Such a simple word, four small letters, one easy syllable. This one tiny word had set Hermione's life spinning, twirling in circles, until she landed beside this man once again, this wonderful, perfect man that she couldn't stay with. Viktor's smile faded to a deeper, more serious look, and his hand grazed her cheek.

"Hermy-own-ninny…" His voice caught in his throat as he stumbled over the name he usually said so close to perfectly.

She turned her head and brushed his fingers with her lips. "Vitya, I have to go now. Maybe I'll see you when you come to England." With one last longing look into his eyes, his broken, sad eyes, she Apparated, leaving him standing alone in the dark yet again.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Hermione was sitting in a Quidditch box chatting to Harry, wishing her stomach didn't feel quite so fluttery. She had forgotten about the game until yesterday, forgotten that Viktor would be in town today. After her last visit to Bulgaria, she had immersed herself in work, trying to keep her mind off of him. She had made whirlwind trips to Russia and Pakistan, and cried herself to sleep several nights. Now she was sitting in a stadium, where he would soon be flying. She tried not to think. Ana was on her lap, Harry to her right. On her other side sat Ron and Seamus, with Lavender Brown, Seamus' "date" (who had attached herself to Ron, coincidentally) between them. She wanted to be anywhere else in the world, but at the same time, she wanted to be right where she was, watching him in the air.

An amplified voice began announcing players' names. It was pure joy to watch little Ana cry, "Mommy! Mommeeeeee!" with the crowd's cheers when Ginny flew out. It was pure torture not to cheer when Viktor did. He looked toward her box. Did he see her? She thought perhaps he looked longer in her direction than he did elsewhere. Maybe he saw her. She shouldn't care one way or another.

She had no clue what happened during the game. All she could do was watch him fly. Speed, agility, aggression, and, of course, sex. Viktor on a broom was always sex. Even with her husband beside her, she could watch another man and think of nothing but being in his arms and his bed.

When Viktor caught the Snitch (and Hermione did see that part, at least, but only because she was watching him) she had to ask Harry the score, cracking him up. Bulgaria had won by a single goal. They left the box to meet Ginny for the party. Throughout all of this, Ron hadn't spoken to her once; Lavender was clinging to his arm. Hermione didn't care at all, except that they were in public. It was embarrassing, but this was the life she'd chosen.

Viktor sat against the wall of the club, slightly sulking. He couldn't think of anywhere he wanted to be less than at this party; his teammates had talked him into coming, to celebrate victory. Sitting in the dark, catching glimpses of Hermione and her husband at a table across the room through the dancing couples on the floor, he had never felt less victorious.

He felt, more than saw, his space invaded. He looked up and met with Potter and his wife.

"Krum," Harry said, putting out his hand. Viktor shook it, nodding at him. "Brilliant game. It's good to see you playing again."

"Is good to be back on broom. And this is your vife, the Chaser?"

"This is Ginny. We have a little girl; she's across the room with our friend Hermione; you remember her from school?"

He nodded tersely. He remembered her from school, from his dreams, from Izbor, and from his arms. How could he forget Hermione? Life would be so much easier if he could. After a couple more minutes of conversation, Potter and his wife moved onto the dance floor. Viktor looked through the crowd again, trying to see Hermione's table. Her husband was gone now, and she was talking to the miniature redhead on her lap, smiling her sweet smile. The tiny girl wrinkled her nose and burst into giggles. Viktor's scowl softened and he closed his eyes. The picture he'd just seen burned behind his eyelids, but the little girl had dark hair and dark eyes and a little nose just like Hermione's. He felt the old familiar ache in his heart for something he'd never have.

Viktor pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind as the song ended. He opened his eyes and watched her again. Potter and his wife were back at the table. Weasley was back, too, with a girl holding onto his arm. Weasley's friend was glaring at both of them. Another song started up and the girl pulled Weasley back to the dance floor.

Viktor fumed. He didn't exactly _want_ to watch Hermione dance with her husband, but he was pissed that her husband was with another woman in front of her. Maybe he should ask him to step outside to…to discuss Quidditch, of course. He considered that option for a moment; it would feel incredibly good to bury a fist in his horsey face. Hermione wouldn't like it, though; besides, Viktor had enough class not to start a fistfight in public. At least, he hoped he did, but he had a suspicion that that man could drive him to it.

Hermione transferred the child to her mother's lap as Harry stood up, then she took his hand for a dance. At eighteen, Viktor would have burned with jealousy if he'd seen something like that between them. Now, he was still filled with envy, but it was a different kind: he wanted to be the man twirling her on the dance floor, the man making her laugh, the man sharing that animated conversation. If he were her husband, he wouldn't leave her side all night.

Her real husband was ignoring her. When the dance ended, Viktor saw him kiss the girl he was dancing with. Fool.

His eyes drifted back to Hermione, returning to his vigil. She, too, was watching her husband from her seat, with the Potters beside her. Weasley's friend was gone. Viktor left his chair and moved discreetly closer to her, wanting to see her eyes…wanting to know. Resignation. Disgust. A smidgen of embarrassment.

But no hurt. His heart leapt when he saw the lack of hurt in her eyes.

Damn it all. He was asking her to dance. He couldn't watch her across the room for another minute.

As he made his way to her, through the crowd, Viktor felt eighteen again. Slowly, casually, he approached her table, schooling his face to show nothing but polite, friendly interest. They looked up at him as he approached, and she smiled a smile that he felt was just for him.

"Potter, Mrs. Potter. Mrs. Granger. And little Miss Potter. May I sit?"

Hermione smothered a grin, and he realized that had been his opening line when he worked up the guts to ask her to the Yule Ball, the first time he ever spoke to her.

"Pull up a chair," Harry told him, and he did. Now how should he break the ice?

"This must be young lady you tell me about earlier." He lowered his face more to the child's level and asked softly, "Vhat is your name, little vone?"

She gazed at him with big green eyes, shy, and stuck her finger in her mouth. Her mother leaned down and whispered into her hair, and around the finger she said, "Ana."

"And how old are you, Miss Ana?" Eyes never leaving his face, she held up two damp fingers. "You are very pretty. Vould you like to dance vith me?"

The little girl let out a sudden giggle. "No! You old! On'y Daddy!"

Viktor laughed, and lowered his voice to a whisper. He shot a glance at Hermione and asked Ana, "Then do you think she vould dance vith me? I do not vant to dance alone." He pointed at Hermione as he asked, who had her fingers covering her mouth to hide her own giggles.

The little girl nodded vigorously, curls bouncing around her face. She turned to her aunt. "Go now," she said, with authority in her high-pitched voice.

"I don't really know if I should…" Hermione said hesitantly.

"Oh, go on," Ginny told her. "You need some fun, and, well…" she leaned over and whispered something to her. Hermione rolled her eyes, and then took Viktor's hand.

Pleased, he led her onto the dance floor. "You are sly, Viktor Krum!" she exclaimed, laughing. "You could have just asked me!"

"But if I ask you, maybe you say no, and I vant to dance vith you."

"Oh, ok. Where have you been all evening? I didn't even know you were here."

"Vant the truth?"

"Of course."

"Haff been hiding and vatching you."

Her eyes widened and her cheeks turned slightly pink, but she looked rather pleased.

"Now may I ask you question?" She nodded. "Vhat did your friend…Ginny? Vhat did Ginny say that made you dance vith me?"

"It wasn't what Ginny said. I just wanted to dance with you."

"Do you not vant me to know vhat she said then?"

"I don't care one way or another. She told me she thought Ron left with Lavender." She sighed. "I suppose I'll stay at Harry's tonight."

"Oh, _svetlina_…he brings them home vith you there?"

"Sometimes," she whispered, hot fury spicing the word.

"I vould not do that to you."

She laughed, a humorless sound. "You wouldn't cheat on me, in or out of our home."

Those words echoed through his mind. _Our home_. He gazed at her, imagining a word filled with home and her cooking and dark-haired children. It was a beautiful world, a world where everything would be perfect, because she would be there to help him weather the bad times and fill the good with memories.

"_Svetlina_...Do not go to Potter's house. Come home vith me tonight. Come home vith me for good. I could loff…love you so much; I vould treat you so vell."

The caramel of her eyes was desperate, torn between her desires and her pride. She didn't answer him, but he knew she wouldn't come. He hoped someday, maybe, she would change her mind. What did he have to cling to but that hope?

As he escorted her back to the table, he saw that her husband and the girl had returned; Ginny had been wrong. Hermione walked around to her seat, but before she could sit, Weasley grabbed her wrist, squeezing tightly, fury in his eyes. "So _that's_ where you were! What the hell are you, a bitch in heat?" He laughed, and the other girl joined in. "Sit your fat ass down and stay there." He released her wrist and shoved her, pushing her into her seat. She looked utterly miserable. Potter and his wife were admonishing him, but Viktor didn't understand what they were saying. All he heard was his own anger buzzing in his ears as he made his way around the table and jerked Weasley out of his seat. "Apologize," he growled.

"Fuck off! She's mine and I'll treat her however I want!"

"I do not care if she is vife or mother or sister or complete stranger, a man does not treat a lady like that. Apologize."

"What, you want to fuck my wife? You wanted to fuck her at Hogwarts. Tell you what, for eleven silver Sickles you can fuck my wife." He laughed hysterically, and so the girl. Viktor shook him roughly, getting his attention again.

"Do not speak about any voman that vay, and do not use such language in front of child. Now, apologize, or I vill take you outside and pulverize you, you stupid drunk little boy."

Weasley shot a disdainful look at Hermione, whose eyes were huge, surprised, staring. "I'm sorry, dear," he said, using the same tone for 'dear' as he had for 'bitch'. Viktor gave him another vigorous shake, and he gulped. "Sorry," he muttered.

Viktor planted him firmly back in his seat. "Do not let it happen again, or I vill find you and finish the job." Weasley didn't answer him; he just sulked. A few minutes later, he and the girl left.

"Thank you, Vit—Viktor," Hermione murmured. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Vas my pleasure." Actually, knocking him unconscious would have been much more pleasurable, but he didn't tell Hermione that.

"I really think you should go home with us," Potter told her, looking worried. His wife was rocking the little girl, whispering soothing words to her. Viktor wished she hadn't had to see his display; he hoped she wasn't scared of him now.

"Well, I'm sure I can't go home. Lavender is probably in my bed by now, although I don't remember when I last slept there anyway. I feel more like being alone, though; if you don't mind, I think I'll just go to a hotel. I appreciate the offer, though."

With those words, a warm, renewed hope gushed through Viktor, like the warm sun shooting a rainbow through a misty sky. Could she possibly mean what he thought she did? Would she really come home with him this time? Surely, after her husband's behavior tonight, she would come to him. Surely she wouldn't force herself to live with that. The warm rainbow inside of him soared out through every vein. Surely, soon, she would be his.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The night was winding down. Slow songs were playing; people were leaving. Ginny transferred a sleeping Ana to Hermione's arms to steal once last dance with her husband before they left for the night. Viktor had stayed at their table for the rest of the evening. Now Harry and Ginny were on the dance floor; she finally had a chance to talk to him alone.

"Viktor, I appreciate you trying to do something about Ron, but you didn't have to."

"Yes, I did haff to. Do you think I could vatch and do nothing?" She shook her head, looking at the table, not wanting to meet his eyes. He reached over and hooked a finger under her chin, lifting her face toward his. His eyes looked so sad. "Tell me, _svetlina_, does that sort of thing happen often?"

How should she answer that? Ron had never offered to whore her out before, but he called her names. He'd only gotten physically rough with her once before, grabbing her wrist like he had tonight. She wondered if it would bruise this time; it hadn't before. She sighed; she knew she should be honest with Viktor, but she was embarrassed that she allowed it to continue.

"He's only gotten rough with me like that once, but he uses that sort of language with me quite a bit. He hasn't done it in public before, though." Her voice was quiet and serious. Viktor's eyes were burning, anger like black fire.

"Vhy do you stay?" His voice was rough and choked. The fury was thick in his words. She knew it was directed at Ron, but it still sent a chill through her.

"You know why I stay."

"Yes, but I cannot understand it. You are too smart to put up vith such abuse, especially vhen you haff better options." He paused, contemplating. "At least, I vould hope I offer a better option."

She smiled, and so did he. How sweet of him to joke, to try and make her feel better. Harry and Ginny came back to the table as the song ended. Harry collected the sleeping child and asked, "Are you sure you don't want to come home with us?"

"I'm sure. I'll just walk to a hotel."

"Want us to walk with you?"

"No, Ana will get heavy soon. I'll be fine."

"If she vishes, I vill escort her," Viktor added.

Harry nodded at him. "Thanks, man. Again, good game." After a few more goodbyes, they were gone. Viktor looked at Hermione, and she thought she saw something like hope glinting in his dark eyes. "Vould you like for me to valk vith you?"

"Izbor would be a very long walk," she answered. She wanted to go home with him tonight. She wanted his company, his arms, his kisses, and the quiet of Izbor. How strange, that after a lifetime in England, a town in Bulgaria felt more like home than anywhere else in the world?

Viktor's face lit up, pure joy radiating out from him. "Oh, Hermy-own-ninny…are you really coming home vith me?"

"If you don't mind, I would like to stay with you tonight." With those words, he faded. What had she said wrong? Probably the 'tonight' bit.

"You are velcome to sleep at my home tonight if you vish." His wording seemed off, somehow, she thought. He took her hand and they left the party, Apparating to his house. They went inside and settled on the couch, conversing casually. She didn't want this casual conversation; she wanted _him_ tonight. As the talk faded away, she moved closer to him, needing him tonight, needing his proximity and his smile and his eyes and his love. They sat quietly, watching each other, until she turn, raising up onto her knees on the sofa, and kissed him. The kiss started soft and gentle. She ran her tongue across his bottom lip, and he sighed, reaching to pull her onto his lap. The kiss grew deeper and more forceful. He nibbled her lower lip, then broke to kiss beside her ear, moving down her neck slowly. Her hands began working on the buttons of his shirt, opening it so she could splay her fingers in the coarse, dark hairs sprinkled across his chest. She could feel him growing aroused when he pulled back and looked her directly in the eyes.

"_Svetlina_," he asked, voice quavering slightly, "are you staying just tonight, or are you staying vith me forever?"

"Viktor…"

"Just tell me, please. Are you really staying, or are you just seeking a…an…an interlude?"

She sighed. An interlude. That's exactly what she wanted tonight, because she couldn't stay, no matter how badly she wanted to. She didn't want to tell him right now, didn't want to see the pain in his eyes, slightly glazed with primitive male arousal. She wanted to steal this night, to feel what she'd wanted since she was fifteen. She leaned into him and planted a kiss where his neck and shoulder met. He shivered beneath her touch, turning her on. Breathily, needily, she whispered against his ear, "Does it really matter right now, Vitya?"

"Yes, it does. Please answer me."

"Can't we just have this night? Please?"

"Hermione, no. Ve cannot just haff this night. I cannot live vith just this night." His voice was sad, so sad, but growing more forceful. "I vant you; I am sure you can feel how badly. More than that, _svetlina_, I love you. I vant life vith you. I vill not settle for anything less than everything. If you cannot, or vill not, giff me that, then ve are not making love tonight. I vant to, desperately I vant to, because you are sveet and beautiful and everything I haff ever dreamed of. But if I cannot haff forever, I do not vant tonight."

Damn the man. How could he be so noble? She couldn't give him everything. She kissed him again, capturing his mouth, putting everything she felt into that kiss. Her arms went around him, underneath his shirt, and she felt his large hands cradling her against his body. He kissed her like she was air and he was drowning. When the kiss ended, Viktor released a shaking breath. "Are you trying to break my resolve?"

She grinned at him, and simply answered, "Yes."

He laughed a sweet laugh that touched her heart, such a masculine laugh that it made her toes curl. He stood, holding her in his arms, making her hopes soar. He carried her to his room, gently kicking open the door, taking her to his bed. He kissed her as he lay her down. Now, _this_ kind of chivalry was more to her liking.

God, she was beautiful, and it was taking every ounce of self-preservation in Viktor's soul not to take her right now. She was in his arms and she wanted him, but he knew she'd be gone in the morning. But when she kissed him like that…Damn. He was only a man, after all.

But, Viktor told himself, after years of Quidditch, he was a man who was used to fighting for what he wanted instead of giving up easily, whether it was a Snitch or beautiful, stubborn-as-hell woman who was attempting to use him for his body. He just wished his body wasn't reacting quite so strongly. On second thought, maybe he could use it to his advantage.

He lay her on the bed, kissing her as she pulled him down to her body and ran her hands down his back and over his butt. Her legs were spread slightly and he was pressed against her. His mind was getting foggy and her sweet scent filled the air around him. He broke the kiss, pulling back to clear his head, and she arched her body against him. Well, if she wanted to tease, two could play that game, and damn it, he would win.

He raised his body up on his arms and smiled down at her, a lazy smile that, whether he realized it or not, screamed _sex_. Slowly he swung his legs off of the bed and stood, turning on the bedside lamp and turning off the overhead light. He moved to a drawer and pulled out a couple of things she couldn't see in the dim light, tossing them on top of the dresser. Viktor moved closer to the bed and shrugged his shirt off of his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Her hungry eyes traced every move like he was a better-than-sex chocolate cake. Locking his eyes, dark, teasing eyes, with hers, he unfastened his belt, slipped it slowly through the loops, and dropped it to the floor. Her eyes broke the gaze and moved down his body, widening at the prominence of his arousal. He reached his hand down slowly and flicked open the button of his jeans. He leaned against the wall, causing the zipper to move down somewhat, and crossed his arms over his chest, showing his muscles to great effect. Now, as she stared at him, her eyes were full of a hot, desperate need, a desire too primitive for words.

"Do you vant this?" He asked, slowly, deeply, his voice husky. It was a voice meant for words spoken in the midst of passionate lovemaking.

"Yes, Vitya, _yes_, damn it, come here…" she answered, in a low, needy voice.

"How badly, Hermione?"

"If you don't come here right now, I think I may die from this need."

Voice sad and serious, he told her, "That is how I haff felt for years, for your love and everything that goes vith it. It vould take a lifetime to satisfy that need. That is vhy I cannot just giff you vone night; it vould only make it vorse. Imagine going through your whole life like that, feeling a need, an ache, that only vone other person can fill, and that person vill not be vith you. That is how my life feels."

He grabbed the clothes he'd tossed on the dresser and handed some of them to her. "I haff to haff a shower; put these on. You may sleep here alone, on the couch, or here vith me, but vhatever you decide, ve are still not haffing sex tonight." His voice lightened to gentle teasing as he told her, "You had better be vearing those vhen I come back."

Viktor went to the bathroom and locked the door behind him, half wanting to leave it unlocked and see if she would join him. He'd meant what he said, though, even if it was one of the hardest decisions he'd ever made. He would spend the rest of his life wanting more if he gave her this night. He didn't want to be a one-night stand for her. He didn't even want to be a long-term affair. He wanted to be the man she loved and came home to every night. He wanted to be her husband, or he wanted to be nothing but platonic friends. He doubted they would ever be capable of being just friends, and in that case, maybe being nothing would be better.

He stepped under the hot spray, turning his skin red, the way he liked it. His thoughts were tumbled, jumbled in his head. He wished the blood would come back soon so he could think clearly. Over the pounding shower, he heard a noise and stuck his head out of the curtain. The doorknob was rattling. Every blood cell that had returned to his brain immediately left.

Viktor sighed as a vision of her naked in the steam popped into his head once again, and he turned the hot water completely off.

How dare he do that! Hermione let go of the doorknob and retreated to his bedroom, fuming. He'd carried her to bed, started undressing for her, left her feeling weak and desperate and so damned aroused, and then handed her pajamas! Didn't he know how she felt?

_Of course he does. That's what he was trying to tell you_.

The voice in her head stopped her short. She sat on the edge of the bed, thinking.

He felt this way all of the time, but for her love, not just for sex. Sex should be an added bonus with love. Even though she loved him, she wasn't offering him that love, just sex, just for tonight. _Selfish_, that voice said. _He's wonderful, so wonderful, and all you do is hurt him._

It was true, she realized. How could she ask him to give her something just once that he wanted to have forever, without offering him everything that went with it? She should leave Ron and come here, come and be with Viktor. Viktor offered everything she could hope for, and all Ron offered was hurt and embarrassment. Why was she still with Ron?

Her wedding vows. That was it.

_No, it isn't. You know it isn't. You were going to happily violate them tonight_.

A tear slipped out of one eye and she closed them tightly, ashamed of her realization. She was afraid to admit she'd failed. Her pride tasted very much like the pride that had been her husband's downfall. She had failed at marriage, even if it wasn't really her fault, and she didn't want to acknowledge it.

Hermione cried. That stupid fear of failure, and her stubborn pride, was causing pain to the man in the shower, the man she loved more than anything in the world, and she knew she had to fix it somehow.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

"Hermione?" Viktor asked, knocking on his own bedroom door. "Are you dressed?"

"Yes, pretty much," she answered. That sounded rather ominous to him, but he opened the door and stepped inside, stopping short when he saw her.

"You do not haff on pants." His old Durmstrang shirt, soft, faded cotton from years of wear, hit her at upper thigh, barely covering her panties. Despite the icy shower he'd just gotten out of, he could feel his body reacting again.

"Sorry," she answered, smiling sheepishly, "but they didn't fit at all. I tried shrinking them, but I couldn't get them the right size."

"Is alright, so long as you do not try to seduce me anymore," he answered lightly. Her smile faded somewhat, and he realized her eyelashes were sticking together in clumps. "Haff you been crying?" he asked, moving to sit on the bed beside her.

She nodded slowly, and said softly, "Vitya, I'm so sorry I keep hurting you. I shouldn't have asked you tonight for…for what I did, not without being willing to give you the world."

He hugged her close to him. "It is ok, _svetlina_, I am strong man."

"Yes, you are, but you shouldn't always have to be. Would it be too hard if I stayed in here with you tonight? I just…I just want to talk to you, and feel you close to me."

"Something might be rather hard, but I think my emotions can handle it," he smirked.

"Viktor!" She laughed. "If I can't seduce you, you aren't allowed to seduce me, either!"

"Could I, love?" he asked softly, brushing a curl away from her cheek, cradling her face in his calloused hand. "If I vere to try, I mean. I keep asking you to stay, and I think sometimes you vant to, but you do not. Is there something about me that keeps you from leaving him? It is cliché, I know, but vhat does Veasley haff that I do not, besides you?"

Her face was so sad when he asked that, like the sun had fallen out of the sky. He wished he could wipe the hurt out of her eyes. He shouldn't have asked, but he wanted desperately to know. She moved in close to him and kissed him, a soft, gentle kiss on his lips, a kiss meant to reassure, not to arouse.

"Vitya, you have everything that he doesn't. I want badly, so badly to leave him, but…but I just can't. I want to be with you."

"Vhy can you not? Can not be your vows. Unless I am badly mistaken, you vere very eager to…how do you say? Eradicate all traces of the vows earlier."

She blushed pink for more reasons than just one, and then she sighed. "I hate to admit this to you, Viktor. Please, don't think poorly of me, but—"

"I doubt I could ever think poorly of you."

"Thank you, but Vitya…" her voice came out strangled. "I'm a coward."

He stroked her hair, not speaking, waiting for her to explain.

"I'm afraid to admit I failed at marriage. I'm too bloody stubborn to just admit it and call it quits. There, I told you." She was shaking slightly, crying again. Viktor moved, lying back on the bed, pulling her down to cradle her against him.

"I agree, _svetlina_, that you are stubborn as a pack of mules. Sometimes it is good thing, even if now, it is not."

"Vitya," she said through her quiet sobs, "how can you do this? How can you make me feel better even when what I'm doing hurts you?"

"I love you. That is how love vorks."

She smiled at him, with tears on her cheeks, and whispered very softly, "I love you, too."

He stroked her hair some more, liking how she felt in his arms, cuddled in his bed, and thought for something to say. "Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go."

"Is that a quote?"

He nodded. "Hermann Hesse, a German writer."

"Thank you, Vitya, for everything, for being here, for taking care of me, for loving me even though I don't deserve it. Thank you for defending me from Ron and for being so sweet to Ana."

"It is my pleasure, _svetlina_. Now, it is late. I haff practice tomorrow. Ve should sleep."

Viktor lifted the covers and they climbed underneath. He caught a glimpse under his shirt and the image was burned into his mind: she wasn't wearing anything under the shirt but some flimsy scrap of lace. He reached for her and she snuggled against his side. Soon, she was asleep, her breath tickling along the hair on his chest. Viktor was a damned masochist. He didn't sleep a wink that night; he was too immersed in the misery of arousal and the intense pleasure of Hermione's proximity.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Viktor watched intently as one of his fantasies came true. The room was brightening, slowly, as the sun came up. Finally, it was high enough to shoot in beams through his blinds, beaming in golden stripes across his bed. A sunbeam fell over the face of the woman in his arms, causing her to stir. She sighed, still sleeping, and moved closer into his body, burying her face in his chest and tossing her leg over his. Slowly her eyes opened, sunshine making the caramel golden, as she blinked at him.

"Vitya?" she asked, sleepily, sounding a little confused.

"I am here, _svetlina_. Go back to sleep; it is still early."

Her voice faded softer as she drifted back to sleep, an arm around his waist. "Love you so much, want to stay here always. Nice dream…"

She thought she was dreaming. He smiled to himself; she dreamed of him. Mustn't let his ego grow out of hand. He kissed her softly, not wanting to disturb her again, and let himself doze in the morning sun with her in his arms.

Hermione woke up slowly, briefly wondering where she was. She was so comfortable. She opened her eyes and found herself cradled against Viktor's chest. His eyes were closed and his body was warm with sleep. She traced her finger along his stomach, following a trail left by sunshine through the blinds. Immediately his eyes opened and he smiled.

"Good morning, _svetlina_. Did you sleep vell?"

"Very well. I think this is the most comfortable bed I've ever been in. Would you like breakfast?"

"Good luck vith that."

She giggled. "I'm sure I can find something. I'll wake you up when I get it cooked; you still look tired."

"I should. Bloody beautiful voman kept me up all night."

She kissed him and hopped out of bed, going to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, having done inventory of his entire kitchen, she realized he had nothing except some baking supplies, ramen noodles, peanut butter and a loaf of bread. How did he live on this stuff?

She crept back into the bedroom to get her dress from the night before. It was rather fancy for a trip to the grocery store; she transfigured it into jeans and pulled her hair into a messy ponytail.

Honestly, she had terrible luck. Who would have thought she would see Viktor's mother every time she left his house in the morning? Hermione managed to hide from her until she was gone, not wanting another scolding.

After all of these trials and tribulations, she finally managed to produce a tray of bacon, eggs, and biscuits. She went back into the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, and called his name softly. No answer. She had to shake him to get him to wake up, and that was with a moan.

"Go avay," he said grumpily, rolling over.

"Breakfast is ready."

"You lie. Is nothing here but peanut butter and noodles anyvay."

"I went to the grocery store, and I saw your mother."

At this, grumpy Viktor disappeared and shocked Viktor sat straight up in bed. "Is she coming to kill us both?"

"No," Hermione answered, laughing at him. "I hid from her so she wouldn't see me."

"Smart girl. Now let me sleep."

"Are you sure? I fixed bacon and eggs."

"Is it crispy bacon?"

"Get out of bed, silly. And yes, it is."

He gave her a devilish grin. "Vhy do you not bring bacon, then ve eat in bed? Then I giff you kisses, because I love crispy bacon."

She went to get the breakfast, laughing at him. Something in her heart clenched. She could have this sweet happiness every morning, if she'd only take it.

"What time is your practice today?" Hermione asked. She was lying on his bed, propped up on her elbows. The breakfast dishes were long empty and laid aside. Viktor lay stretched out beside her; they'd been talking for an hour or so.

"It is in an hour. I should get ready soon, but I do not vant to go. I vish I could stay here and be vith you all day." He couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed a day at home this much. She made his house feel so much more inviting than it did when he was here alone, and the breakfast…amazing. He probably would have skipped it were he alone. He needed a wife—_this_ wife.

"I probably ought to go to the office for awhile today, too. We're trying to negotiate a trip to China, and their ministry doesn't want to let us in."

"If I vas Chinese, I vould let you in," he answered with a grin.

"Well, Vitya, I believe Bulgaria has been the most inviting country I've visited," she said, with a smile and an exaggerated sigh. "For some reason, I just keep coming back."

He laughed. "Vould that be me, or is it just the Black Sea?"

"If it were just the Black Sea, I could go to Turkey."

He pulled her in for a hug, and then told her, "I really must get dressed for practice now."

"I suppose I should head back to London and get some work done." She didn't move, just stayed on the bed, looking contemplative. He wondered what she was thinking. He wondered if he'd be in trouble if he skipped practice. Probably; they did pay his salary, after all. He sighed and rolled off the bed. He knelt to look in a drawer; as he rummaged through it, he said, "_Svetlina_, if you need a place to stay, you are velcome here; you know this."

"Yes, Vitya; thank you."

He went over to the bed and went to his knees beside it, putting him face to face with her. His dark chocolate eyes met her caramel ones, an ice-cream sundae of love and tangled feelings. Tapping his chest softly, he whispered, "If you vant someone to really love you, and love you properly, you are velcome in here, too."

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears as she brushed her lips across his, a kiss gentle as butterfly wings in the summer sun. Her voice was sad as she said again, "Yes, Vitya, and thank you."


	22. Chapter 22

I feel a need to post a warning, and I regret that I didn't do it earlier in the story. This chapter contains the high point of the domestic violence. I know personally that, when you've dealt with such a thing in your life, it can be as hard to read about as it is to write about. I also want to say that allowing it to continue longer than it should does not make you weak. Even a strong woman may have difficulty ending such a relationship; in fact, it is characteristic of victims of domestic violence. However, if you're in an abusive relationship, help is available, and I hope something in my story can inspire you to reach for it. You can reach the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE or http/ and I hope that you, too, can improve your quality of life.

Chapter 22

Hermione Apparated straight to the Ministry, after re-transfiguring her jeans into something suitable for the office. She spent several hours going through old Chinese wizarding treaties, searching for a loophole in the laws against removing information from the state. She'd learned in Muggle geography class that the Chinese were a rather private people; it seemed their wizards wanted her to see it firsthand. She dragged herself to her apartment with dread that evening, exhausted from working her way through so much legal language.

Ron was home, sitting on the couch eating pork and beans out of the can. He wasn't drunk yet, although there was a beer on the table. She took her books to her office, and almost stayed there, but she was hungry. She hadn't eaten since breakfast in Viktor's bed. With that thought, she went to the small, cramped kitchen with a smile gracing her face.

"Where'd you go last night?"

"Oh, I just thought you might like a bit of privacy. Lavender seemed rather friendly; I thought you might bring her back for a nightcap or something."

He nodded. "Thanks, I appreciate it; we had a nice time." What a strange answer, she thought, as if they were roommates. Actually, they pretty much were. "Did you stay at Ginny's?"

"No, it was late and Ana was tired. I didn't want to keep them up."

"Where the hell did you go then? Home with that Bulgarian bastard?" He laughed bitterly. "He needs to pay up." Fury rolled up inside her, more at the insult to Viktor than to her. She whirled and slapped him in the face, yelling at him.

"How dare you talk about me like I'm a whore, especially when you're the one sleeping with anything that moves? What's your problem with Viktor? Is it because he stuck up for me? It's about time someone did, because my _husband_ doesn't have any respect for me! He'd rather make out with other women in public, get drunk, and get arrested than pay any attention to his wife!"

"Go ahead, stick up for the bastard. He just wants to fuck you; all he ever wanted was to fuck you!"

"He has never wanted to _fuck_ me!" she said, spitting the foul word out like it was imbued with essence of hemlock. Vitya would never fuck her, never do anything so crude. He would make love, soft and sweet, rough and hard, but love either way. This blow to Viktor's honor infuriated her even more deeply.

"Perfect Hermione, with her fetish for the famous, Krum, Harry; hell, you're probably fooling around with my dear sister since she made the team. But not me; I'm not good enough for you! You haven't let me have a fuck since I had my name in the _Prophet_ for the Romanian potions ring! My dick works just as good as the next man's, bitch." He shoved her hard against the counter, bruising her back, pulling up her skirt.

"Get off of me!" she shrieked. She managed to reach her wand and immobilized him. She stepped around his body, his eyes screaming burning fury at her, and looked down at him. "You bloody well know there's never been anything between me and Harry, and the idea of me with Ginny is ridiculous. I've never had sex with anyone but you and I wish like hell I hadn't done that. You had better never touch me again, because I know spells that would make Lorena Bobbitt look like a sweet and innocent specimen of womanhood." She went to their room and gathered up enough clothes for a couple of days. As she was headed to the door to go, she undid her spell, and he came running towards her. She held her wand ready.

"You're my wife!" Ron cried, in a strangled voice. She didn't know if he was furious or upset or confused. She also didn't care. He'd blown so many chances.

"Yes, I am, and I bloody hate it," she spat. With that, Hermione was gone.

Hermione alternated between fuming and crying as she dumped her clothes into the dresser at a hotel room. She wanted desperately to run to Viktor again. He would make her feel like she was more than the worthless tramp Ron made her feel like. Viktor would look at her, with that beautiful wonder in his eyes, and she would feel priceless.

Hermione plopped down on the hard mattress, her lower back twinging from hitting the counter. She closed her eyes and entertained thoughts of Viktor's cloudlike mattress, and the strong arms of the man in it, the man she'd snuggled close to all night. Try as she might, her encounter with Ron kept popping to the forefront of her mind.

She felt dirty, tainted, stained. She and Ron had been together intimately hundreds of times during the course of their marriage, of course, but now she hated even the slightest touch. His hand on her arm made her want to cringe. What he had wanted to…she felt as though her skin were enveloped in a filthy, clinging, tarry substance. She needed to be clean.

She got in the shower, turning it up hot enough to bring tears to her eyes, hot enough to melt the emotional tar all over her body. She scrubbed until her skin felt raw, but she still felt polluted. She sat in the bottom of the tub and cried as the water pelted her, until the sobs hurt her chest and made her back ache worse than it already did.

Wrapping herself in a towel, she dug through the bag she'd had at Viktor's last night. He'd told her to keep the Durmstrang shirt; it didn't fit him anyway. She pulled it on, as if the touch of something of his could make her clean. She thought she could smell his body on it from sleep last night. Already she missed him. Maybe a walk would clear her thoughts.

As she tied the last shoelace, Hermione heard shouting in the hallway, along with a banging noise; someone was banging on doors.

"Sir, I must insist you stop disturbing our guests!"

"Leave me the hell alone! I'm looking for my wife!"

Ron. She had to leave. She didn't think she could stand seeing him again, not this soon. Where would she go? He'd find her at Harry's or at his parents'.

He banged on her door next. "Hermione! Are you in there?" he yelled.

"Sir, I am going to phone the police!"

There was nowhere to hide but with Viktor. As she heard Ron saying, "_Alohomora_!" she Apparated.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Viktor sat in the sand on the private beach in his backyard. He loved living by the sea; it was the perfect place to relax after an intense practice. Tonight, he was sitting here lazily, thinking about Hermione. He drew a heart in the sand. How girly of him. He wiped it out, decided that he could draw hearts if he felt like it, and made another one.

The sun had gone down and the night was dusky. He leaned back on his elbows in the sand, watching stars pop out one by one. A cool wind drifted by, blowing his shirt open and tickling his hair. It reminded him of her breath on his skin last night, but it had been warm. She would love this, relaxing, sharing this quiet peace. The world felt so beautiful tonight. He wanted to stay out here, because she wasn't in his house anymore. When he went inside, it would be empty, and he would see her everywhere.

A loud crack burst through his reverie. Who would be Apparating to his house at this time of night? _Mayka _was playing bridge tonight; it had to be Hermione. He smiled in the dark. She'd decided to come home to him when she got off work after all. He stood up and, brushing the sand off of his clothes, made his way up to the house.

He wasn't expecting to find her tear-stained and broken yet again.

Hermione curled on Viktor's couch, sinking into the plush. She wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging herself. He quickly stripped off his sandy shirt and settled next to her, concern on his sharp features. She was too upset to even admire the view.

"Vhat is it, _svetlina_?" he asked. "Tell, me, please. Is something I can fix?"

"No, you can't fix it."

"Vhy you not tell me?"

"If I tell you, you're liable to find him and kill him."

"In that case, if you do not tell me, I vill…vhat is term? I vill find him and kill him on principle."

This drew a smile out of her, and she let her knees down, getting more comfortable. He reached over and wiped her cheeks with his thumb, offering her a wistful smile. She sighed.

"He thinks I'm sleeping with you, because you defended me at the party."

"Technically, you did sleep vith me last night."

She laughed, just a tiny bit. "I suppose so. But that isn't what he meant."

"I know, _svetlina_. I vanted to make you smile."

Her voice was small and uncertain as she said, "He said you just wanted to…to fuck me, that you'd always just wanted that."

His eyes flashed midnight fire as he growled, "You know better than that. I love you, haff alvays loved you."

"I know, Vitya. Him saying that just, well, it just bothered me, I suppose."

He caught her face with his big hand, looking her in the eyes. His eyes were so dark and serious, with fury lingering just below the surface. "Vhen ve make love, if ve ever make love, I vould kiss and caress you everyvhere, make your skin feel like it opens so our souls can become vone. Vhen it happens, _svetlina_," he said, voice low, rumbling, "I vant for our hearts to touch, even more than our bodies do. I vould never just…" he paused, not wanting to utter the distasteful word. "I vould never just fuck you."

"I know that," she answered, and leaned toward him for a kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, and she stiffened, wincing.

"Vhat is wrong? Am I that distasteful?" he said with a hint of a smile. When she didn't smile back, he asked again, sharper, "Vhat is it?"

"Nothing really…my back is a little sore."

He moved behind her and lifted her shirt. He cursed when he saw the plethora of blue and purple bruises scattered over her lower back. "He did this?" His voice was barely audible.

She turned toward him. The look on his face was frightening. "He…he pushed me into a counter."

"That is not all, is it? Do not fib to me, Hermione; I can alvays tell."

"Don't make me tell you, please, Viktor. I'm…" voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm so ashamed."

He caught her hands and moved her closer, carefully enfolding her in his arms. "It is me, _svetlina_. Only me. You do not need to be ashamed of anything."

She told him all if it in whispers, between sobs. She could feel his body growing tenser as his anger built. He was a fearsome being when he was filled with fury. When she finished her story, he was quiet for awhile. When he spoke, his voice was low, sadness over fury.

"Vhat I cannot understand is vhy you vill stay vith him. You are smarter than that. I did not think you vere the sort of voman who vould allow herself to be hurt like this. But I know you vill go back to him tomorrow. You alvays do. I offer you everything in my heart, and I show you how I vould treat you if you vould only be vith me, but you vill not. I do not understand. You say you love me, but you vould rather be vith him than be here. But please, even if you do not vant to be vith me, leave him. I cannot stand seeing you like this." He kissed her softly. "You are velcome to make yourself at home. I vill be back in a little vhile."

"Are you going after Ron?"

He gave her a pointed look, and she knew he was, but all he said was, "I think ve should haff something in the house to eat besides ramen and peanut butter. They do not go vell together."

From the door, he blew her another kiss. "I love you. I be back soon."


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Viktor Apparated in London several blocks from Weasley's apartment. He needed to walk, to cool down some. He didn't want to wind up in jail tonight, and if he saw Weasley in the temper he had on now, he'd probably wind up with a life sentence. He tried to force his thoughts away from him, and as usual, they wound up on Hermione.

Damned woman. What was he doing wrong? She was hurting him one moment and pulling him close the next. Surely she wouldn't play with him; maybe she was just that confused. He felt like Icarus; when he got too close to Hermione, she began to melt his heart, but soon she was burning him, and he was falling into darkness. But just when he was about to hit the ocean abyss, she pulled him close again for a few warm wonderful moments, before he was falling again. He was waiting to hit the water, when she told him she wouldn't be back. And it was all because of Weasley.

_Breathe slowly, Viktor. You know what your temper is like when it gets out of hand._ He was at the door, reaching for the bell.

The woman from the party answered the door, wearing nothing but a bra and a short skirt. On second thought, maybe it wasn't a skirt. Viktor really couldn't tell. Her eyes got wide and she smiled broadly at him.

"A Quidditch player, come to join the party!" she slurred, moving against him. She rubbed against him like a greasy cat and he took a step back, disgusted. "I like two men at once."

Viktor couldn't remember ever being afraid of any man, but this woman was scaring him.

She was reaching for something he really didn't want her to touch when Weasley yelled from inside, slurring as well, "Babe, who is it?"

She giggled, "It's a man, a Quidditch man." Viktor took the opportunity to move away from her again, hoping she wouldn't follow this time.

"Bring 'em in then."

She toddled off on shoes that he wasn't sure were actually made to be walked in, especially by very drunk women. She kept bumping into walls. He followed her to the living room, where she announced, "I'm going to the bathroom," rather gleefully, he thought.

Weasley stood up, eyes cold, walking over to Viktor. He glanced toward the bathroom at the sound of retching, then back to Viktor. "What the hell are you doing in my house?"

"I am finishing our last conversation."

"What, the bitch ran to you again? At least someone's getting a fuck out of her."

"Do not talk about your vife like that. Show her some respect." Viktor crossed his arms over his chest, trying to keep his hands to himself for as long as possible.

Weasley laughed, a bitter, cold laugh. "She's not my damned wife. She hasn't been my wife for a long time. She's not doing what I want her to. I've never been good enough."

"That is no excuse to hurt her."

"She fucking belongs to me! I can do whatever I want to her!" Ron threw the bottle in his hand, and it shattered on the wall beside Viktor.

"She is a person, a vonderful person! You do not own her, and you can not do vhatever you like to her!"

"Why the hell not? _You're_ doing 'vhatever' you like to her, aren't you?"

Viktor took a deep breath. "I am doing nothing to her, except being a friend."

Ron snorted. "If that's what you call friendship, whatever. The whore is fucking everyone in sight." He swiped another bottle from the abundant pile on the table, and threw this one directly at Viktor, who easily caught it and sat it on an end table.

"Just because you are does not mean she is." Ron dove for Viktor, flailing, and Viktor let loose, glad Ron had finally made a move. In no time he had Ron pinned to the floor, holding him with one arm. Silly drunk little boy.

"Let me up!" he squeaked, and Viktor resisted the urge to laugh.

"No. This is for the bruises on Hermione's back, and the vone on her wrist from last night." Viktor delivered a firm punch to Weasley's jaw. "This vone is for cheating on her," he added, with another punch. Weasley looked rather dazed now. "This vone is for anything else you ever did to hurt her." Another solid hit. "Oh, yes, and vone for…propositioning her this afternoon." Boom. Viktor stood up, walking toward the doorway. He hoped Weasley remembered this in the morning; he might not, judging by the number of bottles scattered around the room. Right when Viktor reached the doorway, he felt movement behind him. He spun, grabbing Weasley around the throat, pinning him to the wall.

"This vone is simply because you are a stupid little asshole." With that, Viktor delivered a hit squarely in his long nose, leaving him cursing with blood running down his face.

As he unlocked the door to his house in Izbor with a bag of groceries, all he could think was _Damn, that felt good_.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Hermione wasn't in the living room or the kitchen. Viktor's heart jumped, afraid she was gone again, before he noticed a slit of light under the bedroom door. He put away the food he'd bought, then knocked lightly and opened the door.

She was snuggled down into the pillow, with the blanket up to her chin, curled on one side. Her beautiful hair scattered around her face in curls. The glow from the bedside lamp illuminated her face; she would fill Botticelli's angels with envy. He stood in the door staring at her, his chest tight. She was here, she was real, and she had been waiting on him. He wanted to hold her, to let his heart pretend she was really his. He wanted to breathe in her scent and feel her soft skin. He just wanted to be close to her for hours, as if she were here every night. He wanted to warm himself in her light.

Tomorrow she would be gone again, and he would be falling toward the sea, his wings ruined.

But for tonight, he was going to fly toward the sun.

With a start, Hermione woke. She looked around the room, blinking, but nothing seemed out of place. Viktor was beside her, an arm around her waist, snoring slightly. For some reason, she found that light snore adorable. How strange; she'd always hated Ron's snoring.

The room was suddenly filled with light, and a roll of thunder sounded. That must have been what woke her up earlier. She closed her eyes, and she could hear the slight tip-tap-tap of rain on the windowsill.

Viktor shifted, tightening his hold on her, and nuzzled her hair. She whispered his name, but his eyes didn't open; he was still asleep.

Oh, she shouldn't.

She really shouldn't. She knew better than to attack a man while he was asleep.

He looked so good, with his hair ruffled and a dusky shadow on his jaw. The blanket was pushed down to his waist and his chest was rubbing against her body. She slid her hand down the clean line of his back, so smooth.

She felt hot, swollen. She kissed him, once, twice, three times, and he began to respond, slow sleepy kisses growing more insistent. She ran her hands up his chest, tangling her fingers in the hair, and he pulled her closer, dipping his mouth to her neck with a growl. He rolled her up on top of him, kissing her roughly, passionately. She could feel him growing aroused underneath her, and she broke the kiss and traced her tongue down his neck. His hands moved over her, caressing her back, her butt, slipping up under the shirt she'd worn to bed again, skimming lace panties. He moved a hand to cup her breast, and thunder boomed loudly above them, making him jump. His eyes opened, wide, surprised to find himself tangled up with her body.

He moaned slightly. "Oh, _svetlina_, beautiful girl, vhat are you doing to me?"

She didn't say anything, just pressed more hot kisses against his neck, his chest. He cupped her bottom with one large hand and stroked her back with the other, moving it up to stop her fevered kisses and tender caresses. He caught her mouth with his, kissing her deeply, then looked her in the eyes.

"Are you staying, love? Really staying? And do not say it unless you mean it."

She looked deep into his beautiful, drowning, midnight eyes, lit up by flashes of lightning, and saw her own need reflected there.

But her pride still wouldn't let her promise she could stay. Even after everything, she couldn't make a firm decision. He kissed her again, softer this time, and shifted her to his side. He murmured into her hair, "Go back to sleep, _svetlina_. I love you."

She was safe here, cradled beside Viktor, but outside, the storm raged on.

Viktor woke slowly to the sound of gentle raindrops on the window and noises in the kitchen. He lay in bed with his eyes closed, thinking of her, thinking of how perfect life would be if it were like this all the time. He imagined her waking him up in the night to make love (and actually being able to go through with it) and hearing her in the kitchen in the mornings. He knew just how he would tell her good morning, every day.

He got up and went to the kitchen. She had stolen his bathrobe off his closet door and was wrapped up in it. He would bet money she didn't have anything but that darn t-shirt on underneath it. He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzled her neck, and whispered, "Good morning, _svetlina_."

She turned her head and he stole a kiss, cherishing the feel of her body cradled against him. "Did you sleep well? I don't remember when you came in, but I saw the groceries this morning."

"I _vas_ sleeping vell, but somevone voke me up in the night with lecherous intentions."

Her cheeks reddened slightly. "I'm making up for it with crispy bacon."

"It better be darn good bacon," he said teasingly, letting her go so she could cook. "Vhat should I do?"

"What do you usually do in the mornings?"

"Sit at the table and ogle vhatever beautiful voman is fixing my breakfast that day." She shot him a skeptical look and he chuckled. He sat at the table and watched her. "Vell, that is vhat I vould do if I had beautiful vomen to fix me breakfast every day. Usually I skip it."

"Would you rather not have breakfast, then?"

"Oh, no! Is my favorite meal, actually. Vould like it even better vithout the robe."

She glanced at him, an indecipherable look, and brought the food over to the table. "Just out of curiosity, do you date much?"

"No. Vhy bother?"

"Why bother?" She seemed a bit stunned at this. He didn't understand why; dating seemed pointless to him. He didn't want anyone but her, and she was currently unavailable, although he was hoping that wouldn't be the case much longer.

She looked at him a long moment, then cocked her head and said, "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."

"Really? Who says?"

"Jane Austen."

"She must not know me very vell," he laughed. "I think she is vrong about most men, but I do happen to be in vant of a vife. I just happened to choose her a very long time ago." The last part was spoken softly, but he knew she would understand who he meant.

After breakfast, Hermione dressed for work while Viktor did the dishes, wonderful man. When she was finished, she went back to the kitchen and hugged him the way he had hugged her before breakfast. She pressed her cheek against his back, feeling the smooth skin and the muscles moving as he washed. Eyes closed, she breathed him in, letting the feeling of being close to him overwhelm her senses. In a perfect world, she would drop her no-good husband in a heartbeat and spend her life right here, like this. She wanted to. She needed to accept the fact that she was a failure at marriage and move on.

"I should probably tell you about last night," Viktor murmured.

"Probably," she answered, fascinated at the way his skin pebbled in goosebumps from her breath.

He wiped his hands on a towel and turned, wrapping his arms around her, being careful of her back. He had run his hands over it in bed last night, less than gently, she remembered. Funny how she hadn't even felt it; they were pretty bad bruises.

Viktor pressed a kiss against her forehead. She loved the way he was always touching and kissing her. It made her feel cherished. "Vould you like to go sit down for this story?" he asked.

She sighed. It was bad enough she'd have to sit down to hear it? No, he probably just wanted her to be comfortable, considerate as he was. She followed him to the living room and snuggled into his arms and his heavenly sofa. She took his hand between both of hers and played with it, tracing the long fingers, stroking the broad palm, testing the roughness of the calluses. Such sexy hands, so much texture to caress her body with. _A woman's body_, she corrected herself. She just wished it were hers. She brushed a kiss across his knuckles. There were strange little cuts on them.

"I vent to your home—" he started.

"Ron's home," she interrupted, and he smiled, lighting up his serious face briefly.

"I vent to Ron's home, and he vas there. Ve…had vords."

He had to be joking. She wouldn't believe that was all there was to it. With a pointed gaze, she said, "Ok, now tell me the rest of it."

He sighed. "How do I do it gently?" He looked lost in thought for a moment; finally, he said, "Shall ve say that Dionysus vas over for a visit?"

"He moved in quite a while ago."

"The girl from the party answered the door, vearing…vell, I do not know vhat she vas vearing, but she vas not vearing much. Very scary girl, that vone. She invited me…" he shuddered. "Anyvay, I vent inside vith her, and she vent to bathroom to vomit. Veasley and I had vords, and he threw a bottle at me. I caught it, of course, and then he jumped at me. I giff him a few hits. He deserved them, though. And I let him make the first move."

"Did it feel good?"

A huge grin spread across his face. "Oh, yes." She laughed, and he joined her, their voices forming a sweet, melodious sounded that seemed to echo _home_.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

A knock sounded on Hermione's office door. She put down the parchment she was reading and called to invite the guest in. Harry stepped through the door. She grinned at him. "I didn't know you would be in the office today!"

"We're testing some folks today, to see if they've got what it takes to be Aurors," he answered. "Stand up; I promised somebody I'd give her aunt a hug for her."

She stood and hugged him, flinching again. She was beginning to think hugging was overrated. Hopefully the bruises would go away soon. Harry gave her a questioning glance, but didn't say anything as he took the seat across from her desk.

"I haven't heard from you since we left the other night. You didn't go home, did you?"

"No, I didn't."

"Have you been home since? Ron didn't come in today, or call. His supervisor asked Author where he was, since you weren't in yet, but he didn't know."

"I don't know either, Harry; I haven't been home but for a few minutes. I haven't been staying there. I suppose the alcohol could be getting to be too much."

"Would you like me to go check on him?"

"No, Harry, thank you, but I'll go home after work and see if he's there. I suppose it's my responsibility, after all."

He gave her a serious look. "You know, pretty much everyone thinks you ought to just leave him. Even Molly, and she doesn't even know about the women."

All she could think was that none of them knew the worst of it.

When she stepped inside that afternoon, she barely recognized the cramped apartment she had tried so hard to make homey. Bottles and trash were everywhere, and the smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, along with a musty smell that made her think of nasty sex. Lavender was passed out on the couch, but Ron was nowhere to be found.

She went to her office and discovered that every drawer of her desk had been pulled out and dumped on the floor. Her vision turned red. This was her private space! As she was sorting through her things, she heard the front door open. She stepped out of the room to find Ron carrying a thirty-pack to the kitchen.

"How dare you go through my desk!"

"Oh, look, my sweet little wife, come home from her big bad boyfriend's house. Not even a kiss for me, apparently."

She whirled, too furious to bother fighting with him. She gathered up her papers from work and packed them neatly in her briefcase. A shadow fell over her, and she stood to find Ron in the doorway.

"I was looking for those silly love notes, like you used to write me. I'm sure you have some from him; he seems like that type." When she didn't answer, he went on to say, "The son of a bitch broke my nose; are you pleased?"

"Quite pleased," she answered curtly and went back to sorting her papers.

"What the hell did I do to deserve that?"

She looked at him, amazed that he could be so stupid, or so in denial. She turned and raised her shirt to show him the patchwork pattern across her lower back. All he said was, "Well, that's different. I can do what I want to you."

"No, Ron, you can't." She pushed past him out of the room, out of the apartment, and Apparated back to Izbor.

Viktor was shelving books for his mother at her shop. The petite dynamo snuck up behind him, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin.

"Mama! Don't scare me like that!" he scolded her in Bulgarian.

"I didn't do anything unusual. Your head was in the clouds."

He was guilty as charged. He grinned at her and picked up a few more books, sliding them into place.

"You look so happy lately, Vitya; happier than I remember you being in years. Vhat has happened?"

"Mama…" he drawled, not wanting to mention Hermione, knowing what her reaction would be. She put her hand on his arm, pulling him around to face her.

"It's that girl, isn't it? Herm…ah…Mrs. Granger. The married girl."

He'd never been able to lie convincingly to his mother. Well, not unless there was at least a glimmer of truth in the matter, like when he'd said he was showing Hermione around. He knew he would never be able to deny his feelings for her to his mother.

He sighed. "Yes."

"She has been here again?"

"She's stayed at my house the past two nights."

"She is leaving her husband?"

Was she? Viktor didn't think so, but she kept coming back to him. He hoped, oh, how he hoped. He didn't even know if she would be back tonight; he had been afraid to ask, afraid she'd say no.

"You are not answering me, so she must not be leaving him. You know better than to have married girls in your bed! I suppose I should be grateful you aren't parading her around Izbor with the ring sparkling on her hand."

He was growing impatient with this conversation. His mother didn't know Hermione's situation, and she didn't understand the depth of his feelings. He wasn't willing to tell her either, not at this moment in time. "Thank you for your advice, Mama, but I will keep my married women wherever I'd like them to be."

Her face turned red and her eyes shot daggers. "Viktor Krum! You had better not—"

"Mama," he said, calmly, "there are things going on that you don't know anything about, things that are not my business to tell you. Just accept that, and accept that I am a grown man and I can do anything I want to. And don't you dare say anything to her! That isn't your place! Please?"

She sighed and smiled sadly, raising her hand to cup his cheek. "If she makes you happy, Vitya, I am happy for you, but I don't want to see you hurt again."

"She does. And I am beginning to feel like this time with her is worth it, even if I wind up hurting again when it's over."

Mama Krum watched Viktor leave that day with love and concern in her eyes. For her boy's sake, she hoped that English girl had good sense.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

When Viktor got home he discovered Hermione sitting in the swing on the front porch, watching the light rain fall. She smiled at him as he climbed the steps to join her.

"I hope it's ok that I came back here tonight."

"You are alvays velcome, any time you vish to be here." He pushed her curls off of her face and kissed her cheek, tasting salt. "Haff you been crying?"

She nodded. "I've just been doing some thinking; it's nothing to be concerned over."

"Ok, if you say so. Come inside; I vill fix you dinner."

"I thought you couldn't cook," she said.

"I can make cookies!"

She laughed. "Grown-ups don't eat cookies for dinner!"

He stood up, looking down at her. She was smiling at him, sparkles in her eyes. This sweetness, this happiness, was what he yearned to have for eternity. He reached down and scooped her up, pushing open the door with his hip, and carried her to the kitchen to set her on the counter. "Ve can haff vhatever ve vant for dinner. Only vonce ve haff kids do ve haff to eat healthy."

"If we're making cookies I need to get out of my work clothes. I bet you're messy."

He looked at her, a dark, teasing promise in those chocolate eyes. "I expect to get very messy."

With those words, Hermione's mouth went dry. He stepped up to the counter and kissed her, a deep kiss full of love and desire. Against her mouth he whispered, "Thank you for coming home, even if it vas because you haff novhere else to go."

Softly she answered, "It's not because of that."

He let her go, and his smile was radiant as he started piling ingredients on the countertop. "Go, change your clothes, and then come make cookies vith me."

She hopped off the counter, obeying him, looking forwards to the sweets, both edible and emotional, that the evening held.

Viktor watched Hermione measure out sugar, leaning against the counter in another of his old t-shirts. Her hair was long enough now that she had twisted it into a bun, and sloppy curls kissed her cheeks. She looked so at home in his big open kitchen; he wanted to spend days in here with her, when previously it had been the least-used room in the house. It felt right with her in it, as if, after living in this house for several years, it had finally become _home_.

She handed him the measuring cup to dump into his bowl, chatting about some Chinese law she'd read, and he noticed something that made his heart lurch.

She'd taken off her wedding ring. He realized right away that must have been what her tears were about when he got home; she'd been wearing it last night. He remembered looking at it and thinking about what kind of ring he'd like buy her, when he'd been watching her sleep.

She caught him looking at her hand and stopped talking about China. When he met her gaze, she quirked her mouth into a sad half-smile. "It was time."

"Ok," he answered. He wondered if that meant she was leaving Weasley, but he didn't want to press her about it. If she wanted to talk, she could. If not, he didn't need her to, not right now, anyway. He needed her to smile, though. He dipped flour out of the bag and flicked it at her, showering her hair and dusting her nose and cheeks. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open. She was begging to be kissed, Viktor thought, staring at her mouth.

The flour she tossed caught him right in the face. He dusted it off and did his best to glare at her through his smile. "You are in trouble now."

"You started it," she answered, dipping her hand in the sugar. He grabbed her just as she flicked it at him, dusting them both. She squirmed ferociously. "Let me go!" she giggled. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Carry you off to my lair and haff my vicked vay vith you."

She kissed him, kissed him thoroughly. "Please do," she murmured. His heart pounded, and he could feel blood throbbing elsewhere, too. She tasted like flour and sugar and happiness and home. He could picture so easily a life where they would share this carefree camaraderie and this love every day, a life where he could lay her down on the kitchen table when she whispered words like that in his ear. In reality, though, he didn't even know if she'd be here tomorrow. With a sigh, he kissed her again and let her go.

"If I do, ve vill not eat anything tonight."

"You might," she answered, then looked surprised and covered her mouth, face turning red.

The words sent shivers down his back, but the look on her face made him laugh harder than he had in years, until his stomach ached.

Later, as he pulled the cookies out of the oven, she said, "I think I'd like to go to the beach again sometime."

"Ve can go right now if you'd like. The rain has stopped. Ve can go right out the back door, and there it is."

She smiled at him, making his heart swell. "I hadn't thought about that. I've never been in your backyard."

"Vill be cool by the vater. Vhy don't you get us a blanket from the closet?" He put the cookies in a picnic basket (a gift from his mother, naturally) along with some ham sandwiches. Regardless of what he'd said, he didn't think either one of them just wanted cookies for dinner.

If life went the way Viktor wanted it to, he'd have had wine and roses for their first moonlit picnic on the beach. He supposed ham would taste like filet mignon as long as Hermione was there. On second thought, he had a bottle of wine, a gift from someone on his Quidditch team years ago. He rummaged in the cabinet until he found it and put it in the basket.

He really needed to buy something to drink out of that wasn't plastic. For now, though, Hermione was waiting for him. He met her on the porch, and they went down to the beach.

The world really didn't get more perfect, in Hermione's opinion, than being cuddled in a blanket with Viktor, sipping wine out of plastic cups with little Snitches on them. The clouds had cleared enough to allow the moon to reflect on the quiet waters of the Black Sea, drawing a shimmering path from here to eternity.

Viktor was the epitome of eternity. He tasted, felt, smelled like forever. His presence gave her heart a warm glow that made her feel as if he would make the world alright, and keep her safe beside him, until time itself ended.

What had she meant to tell him? The wine had her thoughts slightly fogged, despite the fact that she was still on her first cup.

Oh, yes. "Vitya, I wanted to tell you I won't be here tomorrow night." She felt his body tighten, and continued, "I need to go to my in-laws' house and talk to them."

His voice came softly through the dark and her wine-induced haze. She suspected he was in one, too; she didn't think he would have asked normally, not in this situation, not tonight. Tonight had been too...too perfect to taint with that question. "Are you leaving him? That is vhat you vant to tell them?" His voice sounded so hopeful. She hated to crush him.

With a sigh, she answered, "I'm leaving him, but I…I'm so sorry, Vitya, but I can't bring myself to file for divorce just yet."

For a while, he didn't say anything; he just suddenly felt far away from her. When he answered, he said, "I am very, very glad you are leaving him, at least. I do not understand vhy leaving and divorce do not go hand-in-hand, but if you say you cannot, I vill trust you."

"I'm working towards it. I'm really trying to, I am. It's just…it's really difficult to let go of someone completely who has been a part of your life for so long. In a way, it's like I'm giving up a piece of my identity. I don't mean that I still love him, or that any part of me still wants to be with him. I think it's just…filing for divorce would be the final step in admitting I've really and truly failed at being married."

"Only vhen you admit the first time did not vork can you try again. If you should ever vant to, I mean."

She looked at him, so beautiful, hazy in the moonlight. His eyes were black in the dark, gazing at her, sad. "Vitya…I really hope that somewhere down the road, there's an 'us'."

"_Svetlina_, even though it cannot be right now, I feel there already is an 'us'."

So did she.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Viktor padded into the living room in his pajama pants, looking for Hermione. He found her curled on the couch with her translating parchment and one of his Cyrillic books, sleeping in his big bathrobe. He sat on the floor beside her and laid his cheek on the couch, watching her. A curl, damp from her shower, lay across her face, her breath stirring it slightly. Her eyelashes caressed her cheeks and he wanted to touch them, to see if they were spiky or soft.

He wondered briefly if Weasley had ever stared at her eyelashes. He doubted it; Weasley didn't seem like the type of man to pay attention to the tiny details that made a woman beautiful. But once, surely, he had loved Hermione. Viktor couldn't see her being blind enough to marry a man that hadn't loved her, and he didn't think Weasley was that good of an actor. For a fleeting instant, such a short moment in time, Viktor felt sorry for the boy that had loved Hermione, the innocent boy who had been ruined, like so many, in the war with Voldemort. That boy had let his jealousy get the best of him and had thrown away an angel like this. Viktor felt nothing but malice toward the man he had grown into, but the boy, he pitied.

Hermione would divorce him, Viktor was certain. In his heart, he had a warm glow that told him she would. That glow was a timid baby bird, hiding in the nest, afraid to jump out into the sun and fly for fear it would be hurt. Viktor was afraid to hope, yet he still did. She would divorce Weasley eventually, and when she did, she would come to him. He would be waiting for her, just like he had been his entire life. Only now, she was here, and someday she would be his.

The fire he had built when they came in from the beach had died, and there was a chill in the air. Goosebumps danced up Hermione's arm, and he watched, fascinated, as the little hairs stood on end. He wanted to watch them rise from heat, from arousal, as he slid his hands over her body. Someday he would, but for now, he needed to push those thoughts back. She was cold.

He hated to disturb her; she had to be emotionally exhausted. She needed the sleep. He should get a blanket out of the closet and tuck her in, then go to bed. He napped on the couch often, so he knew she wouldn't be uncomfortable. He stood up, planning to get a blanket, and slipped the book and parchment out from under her hand. Her fingers brushed his, and he changed his mind.

Viktor wanted her with him. He wanted to cuddle her close, even though her proximity drove him wild. He wanted to touch her and smell her and kiss her. He wanted to feel her hair against his chest. He could be selfish for once; besides, he wouldn't be disturbing her long. He needed tonight. He needed every night.

He lifted her to his chest, and her sleepy eyes blinked up at him. She smiled, then lay her cheek on his shoulder and went back to sleep. So sweet, so pretty, he felt his heart lurch. The little baby bird peeked over the edge of the nest.

He set her gently on the bed and slipped off his robe. He doubted he'd ever wear it again without seeing Hermione in it. Now she was wearing another shirt of his. He adored seeing her in his clothes; he had donated the entire contents of his too-small drawer to her. She curled onto her side, and he couldn't help but think that panties and one of his old shirts had to be sexier on her than all the lingerie in the world. It was comfortable, casual, simple, real, and so Hermione.

Doing his best to ignore the ache that popped up from seeing her that way, Viktor crawled under the covers and cradled her against him. Soon he was lost in dreams of love, sand, flour, and forever.

Viktor watched her eat breakfast. She took a bite of pancake, dripping with syrup that clung in sticky drops to her pink lips. She sipped her milk, pearling white on the rim of the plastic Snitch cup. Her bite of bacon crunched in her mouth. All he could think about was that he would be alone tonight. She'd only been here several days, and already he felt like she belonged here. The house would be so empty without her.

She placed her plate in the sink and returned to the table to finish her milk. He pushed his chair back and caught her hand before she could sit down. She was leaving soon, and his stomach felt like ice. He pulled her onto his lap and snuggled his face against her shoulder.

"I vill miss you tonight."

She stroked his hair, a soothing gesture, and he tightened his arms around her, being careful of her still-bruised back. He'd woken up before her this morning. The shirt had been bunched around her waist from sleep, and he'd brushed a soft kiss against her bruises, hating their very existence. She would be alright. She was strong; she was leaving her husband. The baby bird stood on the rim of the nest, fluttering its little wings.

"I would send an owl, but it would take too long. You should get a telephone, or get on the Floo Network."

"Vill haff to haggle vith your ministry to get on the Floo."

"When I move here, we'll need to get on it so I can go to work, anyway," she said absentmindedly. "I need to go to Albania soon."

With that sentence, spoken so lightly by her, as if she hadn't realized she'd said it, the little bird took the final leap. She would be with him, and he would wait forever, because he knew she would someday. However long it took her to get her divorce, he would be here. Even though she hadn't consciously made her decision, her heart knew. She'd let it slip. For now, he would carry on as normal, as if she hadn't.

"Ve play them in two veeks. If you are interested, you could go vith me then. Vhile I do Quidditch things, you could do your vork. It might be more fun than being alone. Think about it and let me know."

She grinned at him. "I don't have to think about it. That would be great, Vitya. I'd love to go then." She kissed him quickly, as if to seal the idea. "But for now, I'd better get on to work. I'll be back tomorrow night. Have a good day at practice." He walked with her to the porch, stealing a long, soft goodbye kiss to make up for the ones he wouldn't get this evening. Then Hermione was gone, but he had his hope to keep him warm this time.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Arthur Weasley stopped her on the way to her office. "Hermione, how are you? Molly wanted me to invite you for dinner tonight; Ginny and Harry are coming. Have you talked to Ron? He's not here again today."

"I went by there yesterday after work to check on him. He's…why don't you step into my office, Arthur?" she asked, glancing at a curious portrait. "The walls have ears."

Arthur went inside with her and sat down, accepting the coffee she offered him, but not without examining the machine and asking for a filter for his newest Muggle collection. As she sipped her own, she saw his eyes dart to her wrist and realized it was still faintly purple from the night of the club. It felt so long ago that the bruise took her by surprise. She realized that being with Viktor made it feel that way. The peace she felt with him was so different than life here.

Arthur's words interrupted her thoughts. "So, tell me about Ron?"

She sighed. It was so much more pleasant to think of Viktor than to think of Ron. "He's drinking too much, Arthur. He wasn't there when I got to the apartment last night, just Lav—a friend passed out on the couch. He showed up before I left, though, with more beer. Bottles are everywhere and the apartment is filthy. I guess maybe he just doesn't care about anything anymore."

"Is he hurting you?" Arthur asked sharply. Hermione was surprised by the question. Bluntness was normally Molly's specialty. He gazed at her with eyes full of fatherly concern.

"What makes you ask that?" she asked, avoiding answering.

"The bruise on your wrist and the look in your eyes."

"I didn't want to tell you and Molly about everything. You, and Molly especially, will be so disappointed with him."

"We already are, Hermione. Come to dinner tonight, and tell us the truth about him. We've suspected more was up than just the drinking."

She nodded. "I will. I wanted to talk to you today, anyway." She wanted to tell Harry and Ginny first, though. They were her closest friends; they should know before anyone else did.

After dinner, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny stayed in the kitchen to clean up. When the dishes were done, Hermione steeled her nerve and told them she needed to talk to them.

"I'm leaving Ron."

"Oh, I'm so glad!" Ginny exclaimed, and Harry wrapped her in a brotherly hug.

"We've been really worried about you, especially since the night of the party," he told her. "He seemed so violent toward you that night."

"He has been, and I'm not going to put up with it, with the drinking, or with the women. I can do better. I deserve to be with someone that treats me like a person, not like property," she told them, avoiding Ginny's knowing eyes. Hermione continued in a low voice, telling them about the day in the kitchen and the bruises on her back. Harry's fists were clenched; Hermione was touched that he was so angry on her part.

As she finished her story, Molly came into the kitchen, with Arthur and Ana trailing behind her. Ana immediately indulged herself in her favorite pastime, pulling pots out of the cabinet. The adults sat around the table.

"Arthur said we all needed to talk," Molly said.

"Yes, we do," Hermione answered. "First off, I wanted to tell you I'm leaving Ron. Second, I need to tell you why."

Molly patted her arm, with tears sparkling in her eyes. "I know things have been tough on you, dear. You'll always be part of our family, with or without Ron. I hope you'll find someone someday to make you happy."

"Thank you," Hermione murmured, touched that her in-laws could be so kind to her, could love her so much. She told them about Ron's infidelities and his abusive language and behavior. Molly was crying hard by the time she finished, and Arthur looked grim.

Ana toddled over and pulled on Molly's sleeve, obviously distressed to see her in tears. In her sweet little voice, she said, "Ga'ma, no cwy. You can fuck my wife."

Somewhere, in the midst of Molly yelling at Ginny and Harry taking Ana to the other room to talk to her, Hermione was struck by a realization. She could divorce Ron. It wasn't her fault their marriage had failed, and filing for divorce wouldn't be admitting she hadn't succeeded. She had tried, and Ron had ruined it. It hadn't been Ginny's or Harry's fault Ana had made what she surely considered a generous offer to Molly, and they weren't failing anything because she had. Ron had ruined Ana's innocent vocabulary. The two things really didn't compare in scope at all, but somehow Ana's sentence triggered Hermione's epiphany. With tears running out of her eyes, Hermione burst out laughing from relief and joy and a nostalgic pain.


	30. Chapter 30

_I'd just like to say how much I appreciate all the reviews! Thanks, everyone, even if I don't manage to get back to you! After all, I'm sure you'd rather me be getting the rest of the story proofread so I can post it, anyway, right?_

Chapter 30

Hermione was in the living room holding the pie Molly insisted she take, waiting on Ana's final kisses to be dispensed, when the front door burst open and hit the wall with a crash. Ron had arrived.

He strode over to her, fury in his face, and she braced herself for his verbal assault. Surely he wouldn't get physical in front of his parents.

"You fucking Mudblood whore! What are you doing here, tattling to my mommy?" He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her roughly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harry shoving Ana into Ginny's arms and Arthur rising from his chair. She yanked away from Ron, not saying anything.

"Answer me, damn it! I've been looking all over London for you! But you haven't been in London, have you, bitch? You're coming home with me now." She avoided his grasp, ducking away from him. He moved slowly, clumsily. He'd been drinking, of course.

"No, Ron, I'm not coming home with you anymore."

"Yes, bitch, you are! You're mine, even if you are a whore!" He swung a fist at her; Arthur caught his arm, but he pulled away from him and swung again, suddenly moving much faster. He made contact with the side of her face before she could duck. She didn't know how he'd managed to hit her that hard. Through her tears, she saw Harry knock him to the ground and deliver a punch of his own. She ran out of the house, needing Viktor, needing to be home, needing his love and his arms.

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In the next room, Molly was sobbing as she, Ginny, and Ana watched Hermione Apparate from the gate. In the midst of Molly's tattered comments, she asked, "Where is she going?"

Ginny knew. Without being told, she and Harry had both known from the way Viktor Krum looked at Hermione how much he cared. Under her breathe, so her mother couldn't hear her, Ginny muttered, "Bulgaria. And about bloody time, too."

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Hermione was running to the door the moment her feet touched gravel. Viktor was just inside, still in his grimy Quidditch robes. He caught her as she ran into his arms, tears mingling with the blood on her face, somehow still carrying Molly's pie.

"Hermione! Vhat has happened? You are bleeding! Talk to me, _svetlina_, vhat is it?"

Through sobs, she choked out the occurrence at the Burrow while he carried her to the bathroom, sat her on the counter, and cleaned up her face. He felt his muscles tensing with fury with every word out of her mouth. He should have beaten the idiot more. He should have left him unconscious. He should—

He should control his fury and focus on the woman in front of him. She needed him right now, and however badly Weasley needed a good pounding, Hermione needed him more.

He cradled her against him while she sobbed, not speaking, just letting her cry. When her tears had calmed down to mere hiccups, she wiped her face and looked in his eyes. Swirling in hers, he saw a light, a hope, and a desperate truth.

"Vitya," she said quietly, firmly. "I'm doing it. I'm filing for divorce. After that, I want to be with you."

His heart pounded in his throat. He wanted to believe her, desperately. "_Svetlina_...Did you decide this now, vhen you vere so upset? Do you vant more time to think?"

"No," she said, kissing him. "No, I decided to do it before Ron even showed up. It wasn't my fault the marriage didn't work, and I can accept that now. I'll tell you the story later." She grinned and kissed him again, murmuring against his mouth, "I'm ready to try love again, real love."

He drew her close and deepened the kiss. When he pulled away, panting, needing, he whispered in a choked, joyful, tearful voice, "You are staying vith me. _You are staying vith me_. Anything, everything I haff, _svetlina_, love, is yours." The little baby bird was suddenly an eagle, soaring through the sky, strong and free.

Hermione's face was glowing like a rose that had burst into full bloom in the morning sun. She took his hand and moved toward the bedroom, but he stopped her yet again.

"No, love," Viktor murmured into her hair. "Our first time together must be perfect." With that, he swept her off her feet--oh, he loved the feel of her in his arms!—and carried her to the soft, clean sheets of his bed.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

When he laid her down, she pulled him onto her, kissing him, wanting to climb inside his soul. When she let go, he looked down at her with sparkling tears in his dark eyes. "I love you, Hermy-o-ninny. Hermione," he corrected himself. "I love you more than anything in the vorld, and I alvays vill, I promise."

She cupped his cheek with her hand and whispered, "I promise, too, Vitya. I love you." He lowered his face to kiss her again, and just before their lips met, she murmured, "Make love with me, please. I want to be part of you."

"You alvays haff been, _svetlina_. You haff been the light and happiness in my heart." His lips met hers with an intense passion that left them both in the heat of desire. When he had carried her to bed, the picture of chivalry, she had expected him to take things slow. Instead, their clothing fell to the floor in a frenzy of need, hands and lips everywhere. The heat in his eyes as they traveled her naked body made her feel beautiful, perfect in every way. She'd never seen another man look at her with such an open look, as though she were the entire world and nothing else mattered but being with her and feeling her skin.

She stared at him just as openly. Broad shoulders, strong arms, long legs, Viktor was beautiful. When she slid her hands over his hips, she decided that no more faultless skin had ever grown on anyone else.

His lips, his tongue, his teeth were everywhere, kissing, licking, biting. He tasted places she couldn't imagine a man being interested in. He wasn't just interested in her body; he was interested in her, including the backs of her knees and the skin between her fingers. He loved everything, and he showed her how much.

Soon the heat between them flared to wildfire dimensions. Gasping from the feel of him, sweat sticking their bodies to one another, Hermione felt her heart squeeze tightly. She could feel his beating against her chest, pounding, pounding. In the instant of her ecstasy, she felt the moment he had asked for. She slipped out of her skin, and his soul was inside her, and hers was inside him. Their hearts met, and they were together as they were meant to be.

Viktor lay lazily on his back, exhausted, while Hermione trailed her fingers over his skin, exploring him the way he had her. He watched her face while she looked at his body. The awe in her eyes made him feel like a satisfied cat that had every drop of cream in the world.

"Where did this come from?" she asked, stroking a scar on his rib with a soft fingertip.

"Bad break from a Bludger, bone popped right through the skin."

"Oh," she said, kissing it. He wished he could be aroused again instantly, because if she kept that sort of thing up, he would want her again in about twelve seconds. She kissed his belly button. Her hair was soft, tickling his stomach. She was beautiful with sex hair; so many strands had pulled out of her bun, grazing her face, sticking out at odd angles, tangled. His eyes were heavy. He tugged a curl, and she rested her cheek against his thigh, smiling up at him contentedly.

"I love you, Vitya."

He ran his hand down her back, feeling his calluses snag the smooth skin, watching her eyes. She liked the roughness of his hands. Beautiful, beautiful woman, and she was staying with him forever. He felt his eyes closing against his will. He wanted to savor this first time, spending the lazy aftermath with her, dragging it out…

She was waking him up with gentle but insistent kisses, hours later. The night was dark outside, and her body was warm, flushed from sleep. He caressed her slowly, arousing her, opening her to his body. Even so, she gasped against his ear as he entered, squeezing him, sending glorious shivers down his back. Their lovemaking this time was slow, gentle, easy, lasting. When it was finished, she curled into him, and they slept skin-to-skin.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

When Hermione woke the next morning, she stretched lazily, feeling a comfortable ache throughout her body. The man beside her was sleeping on his stomach, the sheet barely covering his buttocks. Little scabbed half-moons decorated his back where she'd held him tightly and her nails had dug into him in ecstasy. Such a beautiful curve of skin, running from his shoulders, dipping down to his lower back, swelling again to form the mound of his butt. She wanted to trace that curve of skin with lips and tongue and wake him up again, pull him close, feel his body against hers again. He was exhausted, though. The thought brought a small smirk to her face. She'd worn him out.

Of course, she was worn out as well. She was aching from the hours of lovemaking all though the night and her body felt stiff. A hot shower would loosen her muscles; besides, she was covered in sweat and tears and other things.

She brushed a kiss against his stubbly jaw, gently so she didn't wake him up, and slipped quietly out of bed. She snatched his robe off of the closet door to put on when she got out.

She turned on the shower, filling the cool bathroom with steam, and tapped a bar of soap and a washcloth with her wand. She felt ultra-feminine this morning, very much alive and very much a woman. She wanted something soft and girly to shower with.

Taking her freshly transfigured body wash and shower pouf with her, she stepped into the hot spray. She couldn't think of anywhere else she'd rather be. Being in Izbor, being with Viktor, made her feel real again, whole again. For years, something had been missing, and now Hermione knew that it was him.

The shower curtain moved, surprising her. Dark eyes peeked in at her, followed by an easy, adoring smile. "May I join you?"

She smiled back at him, nodding and moving back to give him room. He stepped inside, and her eyes traced the long, muscled length of his body. She could feel his moving over her body, too. She realized with a jolt that she'd never made love in a shower before. Ron had never been experimental at all. She closed her eyes, feeling heat rush through her at the thought of Viktor holding her against the wall of the shower, possessing her again. With arms like those, she knew he could do it easily.

When his hand slid down her arm, covered in goosebumps despite the steam rolling around them, she stepped closer, moving her body against his, raising her face for his kisses. Soon, her hands were exploring him again, and his were on her. To her surprise, he leaned his head back and groaned.

"_Svetlina_," he said, "it has only been about two hours since you voke me last." His eyes twinkled at her, filled with a very pleased, very satisfied, and altogether _masculine_ look. "I am old, cannot recover so quickly."

"You're not old," she laughed. "You aren't even thirty yet!"

"Am older than you. Vhere is the soap?"  
"Right here," she answered, handing him the bottle of shower gel. He looked at it for a moment, confused.

"This is soap? Vhat did you do vith mine? This vill make me smell like a girl."

She smirked. "I transfigured your soap into that."

He rolled his eyes. "Vomen. Giff them ride of their life, and they think they can take over all your stuff."

"Can't I?" she asked, still smiling.

"Of course you can. That is beside the point."

She dropped her gaze. "You don't have much of a point right now."

He laughed, a deep belly laugh. "Vas not expecting that. Vhy don't I vash your back for you?"

She handed him the blue pouf she'd made, and he held it up by the string, gazing at it. "Vomen are vierd. This is vashcloth?"

"It's a poofy."

"It looks like a giant tampon that exploded."

She laughed as he lifted her hair off her neck and soaped her back slowly, massaging. She was falling more in love with each loving caress, with each teasing word. These exchanges made her feel so at home with him.

After a long, lazy back scrubbing that left Hermione feeling like a limp noodle, she took the pouf from Viktor and returned the favor. She loved the little satisfied noises he made as she rubbed his back. But then, those intense eyes caught her gaze, and he asked a question that set her heart pounding again. "Vould you like me to vash your front, now?"

An hour later—thank goodness for hot-water charms—when Viktor slid her back down onto her feet and they held each other up, panting, she knew she'd been right. Viktor wasn't old at all, and his recovery time was damned fantastic.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Hermione was beautiful with her hair tangling uncombed and damp around her cheeks, curled up in his plushy bathrobe. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her. She was here, and she was his, and she was staying. She was with him, in every sense of the word. After so many years of waiting for this woman, Viktor felt as though something was going to happen to wake him up, and it wouldn't be real.

Her eyes clung to his like melted caramel as she sipped her coffee. Her cheeks were pink, still flushed from the most memorable shower of his life. She was real. It was so difficult for him to believe it, but here she was. Those eyes shining at him were so much more vivid than in his fantasies; she had to be real.

"What do you have planned for today, Vitya?" Her voice cut through his awe, and he realized he should answer her.

"I am supposed to go to the bookstore and help _Mayka_. Vhat are you doing?"

"I should probably go to the office for an hour or two. If I don't show up after last night, I'm afraid everyone would worry about me."

"Your in-laws? And the Potters?"

She nodded. "My in-laws are my family, Viktor. They've been part of my life for years, especially since I lost my parents. They understand my choice to leave Ron, and they're happy for me. My relationship with them is completely separate from the one I had with Ron. Is that alright with you? I really care about them, and they love me."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I am sure they cannot help loving you. I cannot."

She uncurled herself from the chair and moved over to snuggle in his lap, cradling her head against his shoulder. "I wish we could spend the day here together, being lazy. It's like…it's like we've found this whole new world in each other, and I don't want to do anything but explore it."

"It has been here, vaiting for us, for a long time, I suspect. Ve almost reached it vhen ve vere kids at Hogvarts. I am so glad ve are finally in it. I vill be as quick as I can at _Mayka_'s store, then I vill come home and vait for you."

She kissed him. "I won't stay long. I just need to pop in so they know I'm ok. I might bring some work home with me, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. I haff practice tomorrow; vill you go to vork then?"

"I might stay here and work, and be waiting when you get home. Is that ok with you?"

"_Svetlina_, you are velcome to pack all your things and come here the moment you vant to. You can do anything you vant. This house is just a house vithout you in it. Do vhat you vish; you are vhat makes it feel like home."

She kissed him again, enjoying the roughness of his jaw line. He hadn't shaved yet, and it made him even sexier. "In that case, while you're at practice, I may go to the old apartment in London and gather up what's left of my stuff. Most of it, I suspect, has been ruined by now. I should probably let Ron know I'm divorcing him, too."

"Vould you like me to go vith you?"

For a few moments, she didn't say anything. When she answered, she said, "No, I think this is something I have to do on my own. I'll be fine, Vitya."

"I know."

The conversation faded to trivial things, interjected with soft kisses, until it was time for both of them to dress and be on their way. Even with life interrupting their newfound world, love and hope for the future kept them close, despite the miles, for the rest of the day.

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"Viktor Krum, would you like to tell me why you are grinning like a baboon and smell like flowers?" His mother's question assaulted him from behind as he shelved books. She could make Bulgarian words sound like daggers better than anyone he'd ever heard. He had no idea how she knew he smelled like Hermione; she'd been at the counter checking out a customer. He slid his last book into place and turned to face her, leaning against the shelf.

"That depends," he answered, eyes shining. "Are you going to scold me?"

"You keep telling me you're a big boy and to stay out of your business."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean you won't scold me, you sly woman."

"That's true. I suppose she's still at your house?"

His face split into a grin that nearly made his cheeks ache. "She's divorcing him, Mama."

Looking grim, she asked, "Because of you? It's bad, Vitya, to come between a woman and her husband."

He pulled his mother into a hug, hating the look on her face. "No, not because of me. She's divorcing him because of him. It's not my story to tell, but I'll just say he hasn't treated her very well. We've just…well, we've found each other again. She would have left him anyway, but loving me is an added bonus."

Now sadness filled her dark eyes, so much like his, as she said, "I hope you don't forget about your poor old mama. I suppose you won't be around so much anymore. You'll probably move off to England."

He smiled at her. "Don't be silly. I couldn't forget you, and I'll be around as much as I ever am. Hermione loves Izbor, and so do I."

She answered him in a low, hot voice, "If she hurts you again, I will pull out each one of her fingernails with red-hot tongs and shove them—"

"Mama, stop, please. Hurt is a part of life, and if it happens, it happens. The happiness I've had just since last night is enough to make up for it. I love her."

She watched his face, glowing with joy and excitement. This was the chubby little baby who'd tugged her heartstrings with his toothless smile. This was the loving little boy who had brought her flowers and seashells, the scowling teenager with a heart of gold. This was the young man who had held her when his father died, wiping her tears while his own heart was breaking. In this moment, with love shining on his face, he looked exactly like her husband had on their wedding day, and she knew he was a good man, a strong man, and he could handle anything the world tossed his way. They had raised him well, and she was proud of him. From heaven, she knew his father was too. She felt her husband whisper in her heart, _We've done well, sweetheart. We can let him go now; we can let him love this girl. He's a good man._

And he was right.

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A knock sounded on her office door, and Harry popped his head in. He had a dark ring around one eye. Hermione looked up from the papers she was stacking in her briefcase and grinned at him. "I didn't know you'd be here today! I thought the Auror testing would be over by now."

He grimaced. "We still have to grade them and choose who'll work best with the team. I took a break to come over and see if you were in today. I didn't really expect you to be, not after last night."

Last night had been the most amazing night of her life. A vision of Viktor's rough hands running over her skin flashed through her mind. Oh, wait, Harry was talking about Ron and his show at the Weasleys'. Last night had certainly been eventful. "I'm fine, Harry," she said. "In fact, I'm better than fine."

"Where did you go? You don't have to tell me, but I think I already know."

"Bulgaria."

"To Krum?" She nodded. "Ginny and I thought that's probably where you'd gone. That night at the club after their game, we both knew Krum was gone on you. He looked at you like you had polished every star until it shone and hung them in the sky."

"Poetic, aren't you?" she laughed.

"Well," he stammered, "That's how I feel about Gin, and he looks at you like I look at her."

She moved around the desk and hugged Harry. "It's alright with you, then? You're the person I was most worried about accepting this decision."

"I'll miss you if you move to Bulgaria, but if he makes you happy, I'm glad. After these past few years with Ron, you deserve someone who makes you happy."

"He does, Harry," she answered, eyes shining, "very, very happy."


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

It was getting late by the time Hermione got home. Harry had stayed in her office for quite some time; it had felt wonderful to have a long chat with him again. She loved Ginny, but sometimes she missed being with just Harry. The war had brought them closer than ever. But now, she was ready to be with Viktor.

She leaned against the living room doorframe. He was nestled in the big armchair, reading. He hadn't noticed her yet. Softly, to get his attention, she asked, "What are you reading?"

He looked up, giving her a warm smile. "_A Tale of Two Cities_."

"English or a Bulgarian translation?"

His smile turned sheepish. "Bulgarian. I alvays cheat vith Dickens, but it is much easier to enjoy him in my first language. I tried him in English vhen you wrote to me that you vere reading him, but my English vas not so good back then."

She moved across to the room to him, and he opened his arms, welcoming her to his warm lap. She laid her cheek against the soft flannel of his shirt, breathing in his smell, with a faint floral scent still lingering beside it.

"I vill try him in English if you like."

She laughed. "Read Dickens however you best enjoy him, love."

He brushed a kiss across her hair. "Vould you like to try another picnic on the beach? I fixed dinner, and maybe ve can do it right this time."

"We're eating ramen on the beach?"

He gave her a playfully disdainful look. "Of course not. Vould not be _proper_."

"You stopped by a deli?"

"Vicked voman. Stop trying to steal my secrets. Go change into play clothes instead of vork clothes, so ve can go eat. You stayed at vork late; left poor me here starffing."

His laughter mingled with hers as she obeyed the demanding, thoughtful man ordering her around. She was so happy to be home.

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Viktor padded across the sand feeling very pleased with himself. With a flick of his wand, he lit the fat candles he'd placed in the sand earlier. A wind-shielding charm kept them from blowing out in the sea-scented breeze, and rocks weighed down the corners of the blanket he'd spread across the sand. He sat down and opened the basket. He placed two crystal goblets, purchased earlier that day, on the blanket and set a bottle of chilled champagne beside them.

Last night had been amazing, wonderful, and everything he could have dreamed of. It had also been extraordinarily spontaneous. Tonight he wanted to give her romance; he wanted to be the fairy-tale prince for her. She deserved everything, every little effort that a man could possibly make.

Skeptically, he looked at the scene he'd prepared for her. Candlelight, check. Champagne, check. Moonlight, the sound of waves, check and check. Food that was not ramen, check. What was missing?

Flowers. He didn't have flowers. What would she like best? The fairy-tale prince would have provided a dozen red roses in a sparkling vase. Somehow, with everything else so perfect, so typical, Viktor wanted something a little different—still suited for dream material, but a little less cliché. He waved his wand over the sand, and some of the grains became white daisy petals, scattering themselves over the blanket. Perfect.

He leaned back on his elbows to watch the house. In a moment, her silhouette appeared in the doorway. He watched her follow the pebbled path that led down to the secret beach. He knew the moment she saw him, and his haven of daydreams.

"Viktor!" she gasped. He smiled, pleased to have surprised her.

"Do you like it, _svetlina_?" he asked softly, standing up, taking her hand.

"It's beautiful! You did this while I was changing?"

"Some. Most of it I did vhile you vere vorking." Her caramel eyes were shining at him.

"I love it, Vitya. You didn't have to do anything like this, though, you know."

"I vanted to. Vanted to see your eyes shine for me, vanted to hear you gasp vith happiness." He pulled her into his arms, whispering into her hair, close to her ear. "Hermione, last night vas beautiful and perfect, and I vould never replace it vith anything. But I vanted to giff you romance and daydreams and fairy tales. You deserve to be treated as my princess."

"Thank you," she whispered, in a quavering voice, "I'm touched, Vitya, that you care so much."

"This is nothing. I love you more than…than stars in the sky, than sand on the beach. I haff alvays loved you and I know I alvays vill. I…" He paused, giving himself a moment to think. "I seem to haff loved you in numberless forms, numberless times, in life after life, in age after age forever."

"Rabindranath Tagore, right?"

He nodded. "Yes, is a quote, but he says it better than I can."

"Where do you get all these quotes?"

"I read. I read many books in English vhen ve vere together in school, so I could speak about them vith you. I kept reading them after I got your last letter, because I hoped someday I vould find you again."

She raised her lips to his, murmuring against his mouth, "Thank you for not giving up on me."

"You are move than velcome, _svetlina_," he answered, and his stomach growled. She laughed, and with a smile, he said, "So much for fairy tales."

"I don't expect perfection; never think I do. All I want from you is love and life and happiness, and it'll never be perfect, but it will be paradise. Now, let's feed your poor growling tummy, assuming you really do have something besides ramen noodles in there."

"Hey, I _like_ ramen noodles."

"Only because they're quick and easy."

"True. But I haff steak for us tonight."

Her eyes were wide. "You really did go all out. Please tell me you didn't cook it yourself?"

He gave her a haughty look. "Of course I did. Stole a couple of spells from _Mayka_ instead of using stove, but I made it myself. I vould not be Prince Charming if I didn't."

"I doubt you could be anyone else."

He felt his face pinken slightly, glad it was dark enough she couldn't tell. He uncorked the champagne and fed her steak, chocolate-dipped strawberries and soft, slow kisses. Soon the food was gone and they were snuggled on the blanket in one another's arms. He reached up and let her hair loose from the bun she'd worn to work.

She was fingering his shirt buttons. "Would you be cold if you take this off?"

"Not if you keep me varm," he murmured in her ear, and her fingers went to work on them.

"Want to know a secret?"

"Sure, vhat?"

"After my first trip to Bulgaria, when we sat in the sand and talked, I had a slightly naughty and very vivid fantasy about you."

"Oh, really?" he asked, voice taking on that confident masculine tone a man uses when he knows he is passionately wanted.

"Mmhmm…making love in the sand," she said. Her voice was cocky but her eyes were shy. She was so beautiful, so uncertain. How could she still wonder if he wanted her, when he'd made love to her over and over again last night, and he grew hard from just watching her walk into the room, like some sixteen-year-old kid? Sweet, sweet girl. He pushed a curl back from her cheek and kissed where it had been, tracing her jaw back toward her ear.

"Vould you like to?" he murmured, voice low and gravelly.

Her arms circled his neck and her lips met his, passionately, unyielding. It was a kiss to drown in. He broke away and pulled his old sweatshirt over her head, unhooked her bra, and cradled her tenderly in his hands. So perfect, such pale, creamy skin, with a freckle here and there, almost too pale to call freckles. He would love someday to search her thoroughly and count every non-freckle freckle on her body. Her lips recaptured his, becoming more insistent, more needy, and his thoughts started swirling like smoke in his head.

When they were both wearing only flushed skin, he grabbed her hand and pulled her down to the wet sand and the lapping waves, cool in the night air. With moonlight shining on the daisy petals tangled in her hair, and moist sand clinging to her curves, Viktor watched her. His heart was so full he thought he'd burst from it and achieve nirvana right here, tonight. He watched as her eyes went from shining pools of love to deep caramelized need and then passed into passionate, beautiful euphoria.

Afterwards, lying in the sand, learning how to breathe all over again, Viktor knew that in this moment he had everything he ever needed out of life. He pulled his princess into the cool water of the Black Sea to rinse the sand and sex off their bodies, and knew his every fantasy was now reality.

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Hermione woke, cold. Where was she? She curled against Viktor, naked in the sand. His eyes were closed, and she could hear that little snore she loved. Gently, she shook him. "Vitya, wake up. We need to go inside."

After a moment, and a few more urges, he opened his eyes. "Vhy?"

"I'm cold. We can't sleep on the beach."

"Sure ve can." His eyes roved across her body, skin rough with goosebumps. He smiled slowly, wickedly. "I bet I could varm you up."

She laughed, loving the attention, feeling as though she were the most desirable woman in the world. Before these nights with Viktor, it had been years since she'd made love throughout the night, and she'd never felt like this before, like she was Aphrodite and he couldn't resist her.

"Only if you promise to summon a blanket for me afterwards; I left my wand inside."

In the moonlight she could see the primal male confidence fill his dark eyes again. His rough hands began their exploration again, softly caressing her body, already filled with a pleasant ache from the night's previous adventures.

Later, curled under a blanket, she drifted asleep in Viktor's arms, in the sand, under the stars. This new world was full of things she'd never done before, and she was thrilled to experience them all.


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

The next morning, Viktor sat on the rim of the bathtub, clad only in faded jeans (and looking absolutely scrumptious, in Hermione's opinion). He was watching her attempt to tame her wild curls. He was so glad she was growing her hair out again. He loved to tug the curls and watch them spring back into place, brush his cheek against her hair, see the wind blow it.

Of course, he was thinking about her hair so that he wouldn't think about what she was doing. He didn't want her to go talk to her husband or go to her old apartment by herself. The man was cruel and violent. He wanted to be there to protect her, not to mention crush the irritating little redheaded idiot. He knew she wouldn't like it if he insisted he go. She felt like she needed to do this herself.

_Viktor_, he told himself, _the girl battled Voldemort. Don't you think she can handle one sniveling boy?_

It wasn't that she couldn't handle him; it was that she shouldn't have to. _He_ was her man now;_ he_ should do it for her. _He_ should be beside her, taking care of stupid little boys who wanted to hurt her. _He_ was hers.

"You vill not let me go?" he asked softly, one last time. He'd been asking most of the morning.

She smiled at him. "I need to do it, Vitya. Besides, if you go, he'll think I'm leaving him because of you, and I'm not."

"I understand that…I just vorry."

She let go of her stubborn hair and came over to him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and laid his cheek against her soft stomach. She played with his hair. "I'll be fine, love. I can handle him, and I'll keep my wand close in case I need it." She cupped his cheek and tilted his face up to hers, gazing into dark, concerned eyes. "Thank you for caring enough to worry, though. I love you, and I'm coming home for good. You'd better make some closet space for me," she joked, trying to alleviate his worry. "I can't keep wearing your clothes forever."

"I vould not mind. I like you in them. And out of them." He gave her a soft spank, and she laughed and went back to her hair. He tried to bury that worry. She was a grown woman, and she didn't need him for this. Tonight she would come home to him. After practice, he'd get to work on that closet space for her.

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Hermione stood outside the apartment she'd shared with Ron for the past five years, dreading going inside. She'd been here ten minutes, thinking, wishing she could avoid it and go back to Izbor.

She felt like a different person since she'd chosen Viktor, a happier, more confident person, and she liked the feeling. Being around Ron made her feel...small, like she wasn't worthy. She remembered a time when he'd cursed Draco Malfoy for insulting her Muggle lineage; now he did it often himself. Viktor, who didn't have anyone in his family who wasn't pureblooded, didn't care. Viktor, who'd gone to Durmstrang--where only purebloods were admitted--, loved her despite her heritage. Despite her know-it-all tendencies, despite her crazy curls, despite every flaw she felt she had, Viktor wanted her.

Logically, she knew that Ron cut her down to make himself feel more important. Emotionally, it was harder to write off. Ron had been one of her best friends all though school, even though they'd fought quite a bit. He had fought in the war beside her. He'd been a part of her life for years, and now, he wasn't. But then, he wasn't Ron anymore, either.

She couldn't be married to someone who hurt her anymore, whether that pain was physical or emotional. She realized that now, understood that she wouldn't let herself be treated like that. It didn't matter if the marriage had failed; it wasn't her fault. They had married young; they'd changed as they'd aged, and being on the front lines of a war hadn't helped. Ron had always had a fierce drive to prove himself; finally it had defeated him, pushed him into a deep envy of anyone who had succeeded.

Hermione took a deep breath and stepped up to the door. Thoughts of Ron, the real reasons she had to end her marriage, filled her head as she turned the knob.

The apartment, so filthy it was unrecognizable, was empty. She was glad; she'd have some time to pack before anyone came, if anything she'd had was worth packing. She made her way to the bedroom, carefully picking her way around the beer bottles and cigarette butts littering the floor.

She opened her keepsake trunk, glad she'd used a locking charm Ron couldn't break to seal it. Her memories were in there, safe. Childhood keepsakes, her teddy bear, the plastic princess from her sixth birthday cake, the Mickey Mouse ears from a trip to Disneyland. Photos of her parents, keepsakes, her father's favorite tie, her mother's perfume. The collar Crookshanks, her cat, had worn. Letters from Ron and Harry when they'd been apart during the war. Letters from Viktor, tied together with the ribbon from her Yule Ball dress. She smiled as she sifted through these things, glad she had kept them, thankful Ron hadn't figured out a way to break the charm. Her dresser drawers had been dumped on the floor; her desk had been turned inside out. Most of her clothes from the closet were on the floor, filthy, probably used by whatever woman Ron had brought home with him. She salvaged what she could, packing it in the trunk. She had just muttered the locking charm when she felt someone in the doorway.

She turned around, and Ron was there. Her wand was in her sleeve, where she'd promised Viktor she'd keep it. It was an old trick from the war that Ron had never remembered to do; she hoped, if things got bad, he'd forget it today as well.

"I wondered when you'd turn up," he said. His voice was clear; he wasn't drunk yet today.

She sighed. "I'm packing what's left of my things, Ron. I'm filing for divorce when I leave here."

He reached into his pocket, and she watched his hand closely, suspiciously. She didn't want him to get the best of her. She didn't think he could, but he had been good once upon a time, before their life soured.

He pulled out a packet of papers and tossed it on top of her trunk. She picked it up; the edges were worn, as if it had been in his pocket for quite some time.

"Divorce papers?" she asked, voice soft. "When did you get them?"

"I've been waiting for you to decide; I knew you would eventually. I got them the day after your trip to Bulgaria. The day after we made love for the last time." He sighed, and his voice softened. "The night you called me 'Vitya'."

Her eyes widened with surprise. She'd been fantasizing then, yes, but she hadn't known she'd done that. No wonder he'd thought she was cheating. She hated that she'd hurt him. She supposed that when relationships end usually both people wind up hurt in one way or another. The pain tended to go both ways.

"I'm sorry, Ron," she whispered.

"It's that damned Bulgarian bastard, isn't it? I didn't realize it then, not until the night at the club. It's your nickname for him or something."

"I'm not leaving you because of him or anyone else. I'm leaving because of you. I won't hang around to be hurt anymore."

"It's because of him that I--"

She cut him off. "No, Ron, it isn't. Don't bother trying to lie; you'd already been sleeping around when that happened, and drinking, too. It's because of your damned ego. You can't stand the fact that other people are achieving their goals and you haven't."

"You've never thought I was good enough for you! No one has!"

"Ron, you've always been good enough for everyone except you, until you turned into an entirely different person."

"Even my family can't stand me anymore! You've probably turned them against me; next thing I know Viktor Krum will be sitting in my place at Mum's table."

"Stop drinking, sleeping with everything that moves, and teaching foul language to two-year-olds, and maybe you'll be welcomed back. But, Ron, this has been too much for me. I'm leaving, and I won't be back. Where do I sign these papers?" She was amazed at how calm she was. It felt like a business meeting. Shouldn't she feel something?

As she walked out of the apartment, trunk rolling behind her, papers signed, Hermione did feel something: completely free.

And as she stepped into her new bedroom in Izbor, and Viktor, grinning, showed her the drawers he'd emptied for her, she felt something else: perfectly, amazingly happy, and incredibly, intensely loved.


	36. Epilogue

Well, folks, this is it. I'd like to thank everyone who read it, and thanks for all the comments!

Epilogue

Viktor sat his four-year-old dance partner on the floor as the song ended. "Thank you, Uncle Viktor!" she squealed, and ran to the table where the rest of the family was sitting. "Daddy, come dance with me!" she exclaimed, red curls bouncing as she tugged on Harry's hand. A slow song began to play, and Viktor reached for his fiancée, pulling her onto the floor, cradling her against his chest as they danced. This was her night, and he was so proud of her. In the two years since Hermione had signed her divorce papers, she'd traveled the entire world, accompanied by Viktor much of the time. She had accumulated enough books to open the International Wizarding Library in that short time. Today had been the grand opening, and tonight was a ball for the Ministry and other important figures in the wizarding community, and she was the person being honored.

Her caramel eyes met his, and he thought about the other event they were looking forward to. In three more months, she would finally be his wife. She had wanted time, time to open her library, time to let the divorce finalize, time to plan a wedding. He'd given her as much time as she'd wanted; what were a couple more years after all the waiting he'd done? They'd been together for all of it, going to bed together at night, waking up beside one another in the morning, snuggling, eating breakfast. He couldn't remember ever being happier than when he woke up to see her curled against his chest, wearing one of his old shirts, hair streaked with sunshine.

When the song ended, they made their way back to their table, where Ginny, Molly and Arthur were waiting. Soon they were joined by Harry and Ana, who promptly dragged Arthur to the dance floor.

"Hermione, dear," Molly said, "you're absolutely shining tonight."

"Thank you," she answered.

"I'm so proud of you."

"Ve are _all_ proud of you, _svetlina_," Viktor added. Molly beamed at him, pleased with his input. He was still astonished at how easily he'd been accepted into this family, her ex-husband's family. No, they were Hermione's family. They all loved her, so they had accepted that she loved him. He was thrilled; he'd expected to be resented.

Hermione smiled, and flashed him a look that made him think of cool sheets and her cocktail gown pooled on the floor. He wondered if she would wear his tuxedo shirt for him. A shiver danced down his spine, and she laid a hand on his thigh. He took a deep breath, cooling himself down.

Arthur came over just then, thankfully taking Viktor's mind off the heat in Hermione's eyes. Ana plopped down on Harry's lap, pouting at having her dance interrupted. "Tiddlywink is looking for you, Hermione. He said something about introducing you to everyone."

She blushed bright red, and grabbed Viktor's hand and squeezed. "I'm not going up there alone," she mumbled to him. He would go with her, be as close as he could. She knew he would.

As they walked toward the front of the ballroom, he slipped his arm around her waist. "I vill be here, _svetlina_, vill be ok."

She smiled at him. Her cheeks were just a bit pink now. "I know, Vitya, thank you."

Tiddlywink escorted her to the podium. He spoke briefly, introducing Hermione. Viktor watched his sweet, shy love go from pale pink to bright red. Finally, when Tiddlywink finished, she fled back into his arms. He chuckled softly. Beautiful girl. He couldn't be happier.

Tiddlywink, with pride in his eyes, appeared beside them. "So, Mrs. Granger, now that the library is open, can I expect a wedding invitation soon?"

"Yes, Mr. Tiddlywink, it's in three months."

"Are you still going to be Mrs. Granger?"

She smiled up at Viktor. "No, I'm going to be Mrs. Krum this time around."

Viktor smiled back at her, then at Tiddlywink. "I vant to thank you, Mr. Tiddlyvink, for sending her looking for books. If you had not, I may not haff found her again. I believe I owe that to you."

Tiddlywink laughed. "No, no, Mr. Krum, I had nothing to do with that. From the way you two look at each other, I'd say that was destiny."

Yes, Viktor thought, he was right. That's what life with Hermione was all about: smiles, sunshine, and serendipity.

The End.


End file.
